Working my way back to you
by SheyRicci
Summary: Dean left Sam at home. Sam left Dean with Garth. Why weren't either where they were supposed to be?
1. Chapter 1

Sam straightened up, load of clothes just removed from the dryer in his arms. Shivering, he hugged the bundle close, burying his face in its warmth. He felt the flush of warmth through his entire body and reveled in the feeling. Whoa….okay, yeah, overly warm and leaning or bending over... not such a good idea. He dropped the clothes on top of the dryer and braced his weight with both hands against the washer.

Once his head cleared, he began to fold, separating his clothes from Dean's. He eyed the new appliances, wondering how Dean had afforded to pay for them as well as new bed mattresses and decided he didn't care; wasn't like anyone was going to come repossess them. He grinned, envisioning Dean's struggle to haul the washer and dryer into the bunker, down the steps and into the room that housed them. The previous set had been decades old, therefore smaller with different fixtures for plumbing. Not that it would have been a problem for Dean. He did love to tinker with his tools.

Sam snickered.

The clothes folded, he carried them to his room, tossing Dean's on his bed as he passed. He yawned when he entered his own room. He hadn't been tired until he'd seen his bed but now, a nap was beckoning and he saw no reason to deny himself the afternoon treat. Setting the pile of clothes on a chair, he kicked his sneakers off, retrieved his tablet – another extravagant item Dean had purchased – and stretched out on his bed. He'd catch up on the alumni blog from college. He hadn't been in contact with anyone for years, but it has hard to let go of that time of his life completely.

Dean was off on a hunt with Garth. Dean hadn't wanted him to go and though Sam's feelings were hurt, he'd agreed there was no need to accompany them on a simple salt and burn. Sam had a lot of research to do and he'd get to it, after reading the newsletter and blogs from a professor or two that still taught at the college.

He swiped his finger, skimming over an article…..an alumni banquet….in St. Louis, MO. Dean and Garth were not far from St Louis. Sam stared at the screen…several names speaking at the gala were ones he knew; some were professors, others merely a classmate. The world thought him dead but it was unlikely anyone would recognize or remember him. On the chance someone did...well, he could get around that, claim undercover work for the government or some such thing

Dean had asked him not to hunt; nothing had been discussed about where Sam should remain…nothing to stop him from going….no, no not a good idea. But then, he'd be close to the town where Dean was…no..no, no. He sighed rubbing his eyes…..he was supposed to rest and eat and get some sleep…..he'd promised Dean he would, but he'd never promised where he would do so.

He drifted off to sleep, trying not to worry that Garth - _Garth_ - had Dean's back or that Cas was class-A weird and MIA _again_…..that Garth being with Dean was what had him seriously contemplating driving off to Missouri. The alumni banquet an acceptable excuse to leave home and drive to where Dean was.

***000***

Sam sat back from the table, plate pushed away so he could rest his elbows. He was tired, but not exhausted. He'd arrived in town a day before the banquet began, registered for attendance then crashed in a motel room. The drive hadn't been difficult but driving took concentration and attention to detail that took a mental toll. Sleep was the best way to overcome his depleted strength and rebound.

He reached for his glass of water, content if not truly happy. It was great catching up with old acquaintances even if he wasn't able to reveal who he was or make contact with anyone who had known him. He sat at a table with strangers but they were polite and friendly.

His cell rang. The group around the table groaned and made faces and laughingly told him to ignore it. He smiled gamely, made a lame comment about being on call for work, pulled it from his pocket and looked at caller id. Dean.

"Yeah dude." he answered. "Hey, how's it going?"

Silence settled over the table as one by one, the people surrounding it became aware of Sam's facial expression.

"What?" Sam broke in. "Where?" he was digging for his wallet. "When?" he shoved his chair back from the table and stood up. "I'm on my way." without a look, a word or money tossed onto the table, he walked – ran – from the restaurant.

***000***

Dr. Mian strolled down the hallway, head lowered, stopping frequently as he read the contents of the blue file that had been handed to him from the ER. Avidly reading because his curiosity was roused, no ER report in his career had ever been complied so quickly. And such detail! What he was reading was…..wow. Holy cow - no freaking way - wow. He couldn't begin to comprehend what the file revealed and he was on page one. The internal injuries…..hell, the physical symptoms alone should render the patient catatonic. No man with these symptoms and injuries should be alive. Upright and walking? There was no medical explanation to explain that. It defied modern medicine.

He rounded the corner, floppy film of an x-ray held out in front of him, seeking the right angle to get enough light to….he didn't know what. Holding it up to fluorescent ceiling lighting would not enable him to read it and surely those markings were an error. Shaking his head, he tucked it back into the large file in his hand and flipped a page to continue reading.

Caucasian male - late twenties/early thirties

Height - approximately 6'2 to 6'4

Weight - approximately 165 to 175

Identity - unknown

Medical history - unknown

He was a surgeon specializing in vascular surgery and even reading the file didn't give him a clue why he'd been contacted to consult on the baffling case in the ER.

"Dr. Mian?"

Dr. Jamshid Mian, referred to as Jamie among his co-workers looked up in surprise as he was hailed by Dr. Dixit, trauma surgeon. Jamie came to a stop, scratching his head through his surgical cap.

"Helen." he greeted. "Odd place to see you…..on your way to the cafeteria?"

"No." she smiled warmly, cup of coffee in one hand, blue file in the other. "On my way to the ER for a consult." she waved the filed about, eyes narrowing when he waved his identical blue one back. "You?"

"Same."

"Ever seen the like?" she resumed walking. "Don't know if I'm intrigued or petrified. Definitely doubtful."

"Trying to wrap my head around it." Jamie admitted, punching the button for the elevator. "Thought I'd take a visual, talk to the ER doc then sit and review these x-rays and scan results."

"Mmm, we think alike….." she flipped the file open expertly with one hand. "Tuberculosis? Really? In this day and age, in this country, with no sign of HIV? Hard to believe?"

"Yet, a consult with both a vascular and a trauma surgeon is requested?"

The bell dinged, signaling the arrival of the elevator and its doors slid open to reveal the cars sole occupant.

"Dr. Mian." the small, bespectacled man reading a blue file greeted with a bare glance over the rim of his glasses. "Not my floor, oh Dr. Dixit, how do, ma'am."

"And a thoracic surgeon." Helen mused. "More and more interesting."

"What?" Dr. Patel finally made eye contact. "I say….oh, what see…same files?"

"Consult in the ER on a patient?" Jamie guessed. "Rather curious to see this guy."

"Agreed." Helen smiled. "Doctor?" she waved a hand to the elevator.

"Ladies first." Jamie beckoned.

The three surgeons entered the ER as one, comparing notes and opinions they'd gained from reading the file. Each had a different opinion but agreed on some speculation and diagnosis.

"Dr. Miffler." Jamie approached the cluster of nurses, aides and orderlies around the ER doctor on staff. "Here we are…where is our patient? Curiosity has gotten the better of us all."

"Yes." Helen nodded her agreement. "We are anxious to see him."

Dr. Miffler pointed to an empty table. The white sheet was mussed, spotted with various stains and discarded medical supplies. A pair of shoes sat on the floor under the examination table but their owner was nowhere to be seen.

"You sent him for further tests?" Helen guessed. "Even knowing we were on our way?"

"I didn't send him anywhere." the doctor retorted waspishly. Man, surgeons with their superiority complex and we-rule-all attitudes irritated the shit out of him. Their time and knowledge made them a good doctor, not a better person.

"Then where is he?" Jamie asked in annoyance. Man, he really hated it when these ER doctors wasted his time.

"Who took him?" Dr. Patel asked absently, file up to his nose, flipping papers back and forth.

"Far as we can tell - no one." Dr. Miffler retorted.

"Then where is he?" Jamie asked again.

"While the file is very detailed, we need to examine the patient to determine the extent of its accuracy." Helen smiled. "We are three very different surgeons. If – IF – he requires the assistance of the three of us, and I really don't see how that can be, then we need to consult to see whose skills he requires first."

"We have security looking at the cameras." a nurse spoke up. "One minute he was here, the next, gone."

"People just don't disappear." Jamie snapped. He didn't know why he was so peevish. It was a tie between having his time wasted and his disappointment over being denied the opportunity to see this…..medical marvel with his own eyes.

"No one saw him leave?" Helen asked amused. "So what, you're saying he just up and walked out of here?"

"Hardly." Dr. Miffler snorted.

"Was he at any time left alone?" Helen pushed. Looks were exchanged and Dr. Miffler shrugged. "So, he was." Helen guessed. "And it's entirely possible he walked out."

"No." Dr. Miffler insisted. "It is not possible. You were sent a report…you've read it….." his implication was clear. He'd expected the surgeons long before now.

"I was home." Dr. Patel hummed. "Came in straight away, was handed the file upon entering the hospital."

"Just came out of surgery." Jamie added.

"Was on rounds." Helen supplied.

"Whatever." Dr. Miffler pushed through the small group. "He's gone. No need for any of you now."

"If he was in need of help from any of us, required our skills and expertise as a surgeon, he did not walk out of here." Jamie said. Silence. "People come on, he didn't go poof. There's no such thing as: 'Here one minute, gone the next' or 'disappeared before my very eyes'.

"How did he come in?" Helen asked. "Ambulance?"

"Nope." Dr. Miffler faced the three surgeons. "He walked."

"Huh." Dr. Patel closed the file. "Nothing to see here then."

***000***

Sam staggered down the street. He was pretty sure he wandered in the direction he'd left his car but thought he should have reached it by now. He needed to find it and seek sanctuary within before he passed out on the sidewalk. If he were found and returned to the ER, there'd be no second escape. The ER staff would consider him mentally unstable and this time take the precaution of restraining him to the bed.

He paused, bringing his head up to look around and gain some idea of where he was. White building on his left, good, good, yes, he should find the car on the other side. Trying and failing to remember why he hadn't parked at the ER, he stumbled forward, wondering if the ER would send security to look for him or call the police to report a seriously injured, possibly deranged man wandering around the city streets with no shoes.

Either way, best not to be found.

He had no idea how long he'd been detained at the ER. He'd rushed in, frantic to find Dean, barking orders and demanding answers. The girl at the receptionist desk had been patient and calm and had tried to help him locate Dean. It had been her persistent need to ask questions he couldn't answer that had led him to start cursing Garth and throw out accusations before promising to end Garth's time on 'God's Green Earth'.

She had picked up the phone, probably to call security when his traitorous body had rebelled. Coughing into the sleeve of his elbow, he'd spit up blood he'd been unable to hide from her. A heavy nosebleed had followed and he'd hit the floor.

He'd woken up on a gurney in the ER, found his clothes minus his shoes, gotten dressed and slipped out of the hospital. Now if only he could find the fucking car! It was blue, no black…..aah white? Silver! There it was...no, not his.

He'd knew he'd been taken for tests and x-rays and cat scans and MRI's and ultrasounds or whatever and while it'd been time wasted, it'd also been time spent calming down and regaining control. Three things had worked their way through his befuddled brain while being poked, pinched, prodded, probed, positioned, patted, petted, penetrated and punctured.

*** First - He'd hug his brother when he found him, and then knock him the fuck out. The counts against him for receiving such a punishment were numerous: Leaving him. Going with Garth. Being taken to the hospital. Going with Garth. Not being at the hospital when Sam got there. Worrying him. Going with Garth. Disappearing on him. Depending on Garth. Still being missing. And oh yeah, going with Garth.

*** Second - He was going to take every spindly limb on Garth and twist the tooth-pick bean-pole into a pretzel. Wrap those boney ankles behind his head and tie his elbows to his knees and shove the cellphone he hadn't bothered to answer up his ass.

*** Third - Find a way to eliminate the letter P from the alphabet.

This, of course, assuming both were alive and well and ever seen again.

Aah, at last, the fucking car! Huh, red? It was red? Son-of-a-bitch! He fell against the trunk and hand-walked his way around to the passenger side to the backseat door - yup, unlocked and that was his coat in the passenger seat. He got into the backseat and gratefully laid down. Nothing he could do now until he got some sleep. He had neither the strength nor the know-how in his current condition to hot wire the car. He could only hope no one came along and found him who knew he'd escaped from the ER.

Asleep in the backseat, anyone would assume he was sleeping off having tied-on one too many.

***000***

Dean unlocked the motel room door, pushed it open with his foot, entered the room, dropped his duffel bag, kicked the door shut behind him and tossed his keys onto the table against the wall. What a fucking night. Oh, he'd had worse, but man….bruised, battered, beaten and bottomed-out all he could think about was drinking until he passed out.

Garth made a decent hunting partner, a fighter – not so much. A nurse…..Dean snorted, twisting and dipping and contorting to get his coat off one-handed without moving his other arm. He'd rather be tended by an enemy then Garth who lacked the physical strength to get done what needed doing. Couldn't blame the guy for having the gumption and heart to try though

Armed with a bottle, he eased onto his bed, bottom lip trapped between his teeth. He started to lie down then thought he hadn't better, doubtful he'd be able to get back up on his own. He eyed the other bed – he'd wanted two rooms but the motel had one vacancy, thank God it'd had two beds – then got to his feet, snagged the pillows from the other bed, piled them with the ones on his bed up against the headboard/wall and sat down. He took a moment, then swung his feet onto the mattress and settled his back against the pillows.

Not very comfortable but it would have to do. He waggled a foot, decided he lacked the ability to remove his boots and let his eyes close. Wouldn't be the first time he'd slept fully dressed. His shoulder continued to give him fits. He'd dislocated it and only hoped he hadn't cracked or broken his collarbone. Sam would know and would know what to do to make it feel better.

Maybe he should have remained at the ER for evaluation but once he'd been assured Garth hadn't been seriously injured, he'd denied treatment and found an excuse to leave the hospital.

Garth, bless his screwy, scrawny little ole self, had managed to pop his shoulder back into place but lacking Sam's strength and ease from years of practice, he'd accomplished success on his third attempt. It had _hurt_. Sam thought Dean cried like a baby when he did it? He should have been around to hear Dean when Garth failed!

Sitting semi-upright did not relieve the pain. His shoulder ached and pain radiated along his back, across his neck and down his spine. His eyes pin-pricked with tears that neither spilled nor abated. He'd taken ibuprofen but so far, it hadn't done anything to bring relief. Ice….well that would require getting up, going for a walk and finding the ice machine. Not gonna happen. His bottom-shelf bottle of whiskey, even if it required the entire bottle and it probably would, would be just the thing to make awareness cease to exist.

He had time to get some sleep before checking in with Sam. He wormed his ass about on the mattress, feeling for the familiar lump of his phone in his back pocket – nothing. Huh, must be in his coat pocket or maybe out in the car, didn't matter, he wasn't getting up to retrieve it now. No biggee, he'd retrieve it in a couple of hours and call Sam when he was due to check in with his sappy sibling tucked safely into the security of the bunker.

It didn't occur to him that perhaps he'd lost his phone or someone had taken it.

***000***

Garth was driving his ole beat-up jalopy, singing to corny tunes on the radio when the angry ring of his cellphone vibrated the device across the dashboard. Turning the music down, he flopped his hand among papers and trash on the dash until his fingers came up with the phone and he rooted it out. How could a ringing phone sound angry?

"Talk to Garth and tell him all your problems." he chirped cheerfully. "How can I help you?"

"Where the fuck is my brother Garth and so help me, the next words coming out of your mouth better be 'he's on his way back to you."

"Uh, Sam? This you? Hey dude….what's up?"

"What's up? That's what you want to know? Fine, what's up is my ire, my anger, my dander, my desire to tie your arms into a French knot."

"Ho-whoa, hold up dude." Garth chuckled. "Chill out."

"I got a call from the ER Garth! In Lemay, Missouri. Where the hell is he?"

"Okay, ok…yeah….we were at the ER….sure…but…"

Sam was off the chair and stalking to the men's room….if he could wrap his hands around that little chicken-shits neck he would squeeze until his eyeballs popped right outta his head. "And_ you_ didn't call me why?"

"Hey now, Sam, chill out a minute. We weren't there 'cause of Dean. I smashed my hand…"

"I've called you over ten times Garth! I've been calling all night….you couldn't call me back in response to any of the messages I left? Or the text's I sent? What the hell is the matter with you?"

"Huh…..pain meds." it was dawning on Garth that perhaps Sam truly was pissed and not joking around. He gave a passing road sign a thumbs up. Boy, was he glad he was nowhere near Lebanon, Kansas.

"You'd better be in traction with a tube up your dick and a nurse holding your head so you can drink your meal from a straw when I find you because if that ain't how it is, trust me, it will be."

"Say Sam….it's ok, everything's good. Now see, Dean took me to the ER…..but he left… …he didn't stay and he wasn't treated…"

"They called me Garth…"

"Who did? They did?" Garth cut in. "What did they say?"

"They had his phone…but when I got there….."

"You..? You got there? What do you mean...wait, you went to the hospital? You're in Lemay?"

"Yeah Garth, I'm in Lemay." Sam drawled sardonically then exploded. "Just where the HELL do you think I'D be?" he demanded. "Jesus CHRIST Garth…..did you just LEAVE him there?"

"How'd you get there so fast? Ain't you supposed to be home?" Garth made quick mileage and time distance calculations in his head. "How could you be there?" he pulled an audible pout that sent Sam into yet another rage. "Thanks for the help on the hunt." he teased but Sam didn't bite.

"You'll need more than traction to put yourself back together if I come across _you_ before I find him." Sam threatened, voice promising violence. "And when I do find him, he'd better be hale and hearty and all in one piece."

Garth gulped, the 'or else' was left unsaid but hanging ominously over his head. "Find him? He's…wait Sam….you lost him?" he winced as soon as the words left his mouth. Sam's sharp intake of breath and utter silence said Garth's fate, when Sam laid eyes on him, was doomed. "I…..wait Sam…he was fine when I last saw him at the ER. They took me off for x-rays….I didn't need surgery by the way, thanks for thinking of me. He said he was going back to the motel room."

"You left him alone?!"

"Aaah…no?" he guessed, searching for the right thing to say. "See Sam…we left the hospital separately…we each have our own cars….but….the motel…."

"Where is it?"

"Aaah, did you try calling him?"

"Yeah, Garth, I did." Sam seethed. "He's not answering his phone."

"Did you track it by GPS?"

"Yeah Garth, I did." Sam spit each word out like a physical smack upside Garth's head. "And hey, guess what? It's at the hospital I just left. The hospital he's not at."

Garth chewed his lip as he pulled to the safety of the side of the road and put the car in park. "I…I'm not, left….about an hour ago. Honest Sam….he was fine….other than…"

"Other than what?"

"Uh…..did the hospital say why they called? I mean…I don't see why they'd have his phone…..he…."

"I will nail you by your toes off the roof of the tallest building I find when I get my hands on you. Your only thought will be what will kill you first. Your toes ripping free of the nails or death by the blood pooling in your skull…. "

"Okay, ok, ok….violence not required…..we finished the hunt, was just a spirit but he – Dean – went down some steps, dislocated his shoulder is all…..probably a bruise or two but we both thought my hand was the worse injury either of us suffered so…we came to the ER."

"They reset his shoulder?"

"Oh no. I did."

"You…" Sam swallowed, a mental visage of 80lb Garth with a bum, broken hand straddling Dean to put his _whole _body's strength behind his efforts to pop a stubborn, worn joint back where it belonged. "You did. _You_?"

"Took a couple tries, but…."

"What motel are you at?" Sam wiped a hand across his forehead, grimacing in distaste. He was sweating.

"Aah, Budget Best Inn off Rte. 30. Say Sam…..he's ok. We….."

"Don't ever call Dean for help with a hunt again, you hear me?"

"What? Oh now Sam, no need to over-react…..you two are the best….."

"Am I clear or would my fist help you understand?"

"No, no….we're good." Garth assured him. "Say Sam, when you….Sam? Hello? Sam?"

Sam flung the phone against the wall of the bagel shop restroom. Great, break it Sam, way to go. He splashed cold water on his face, washed his hands, retrieved his phone from the floor and set out in search of a phone book. He didn't relish the looks he'd get until he finally found one.

***000***

Dean woke, stiff and achy, missing his bed at home with a longing he'd never thought possible. Funny, it hadn't been home for long yet he missed its comforts and familiarity and safety with a pang that hurt. Blinking his eyes open, he waited until his vision settled and focused then raised his hand to wipe his face.

A bleary look around the room and the silence told him Garth had yet to return.

"You gonna play nice?" he asked his numb left arm. His thumb responded but his hand joined ranks with his wrist, elbow and shoulder and told him, in case he'd forgotten, where hell could be found. "Yeah, thanks." he told it and rolled to his side and off the bed to his feet.

Chewing on a stick of spicy jerky, he shuffled to the bathroom. After washing up, he popped more ibuprofen, exchanged the bottle of whiskey for one of water, grabbed the ice bucket and went in search of the ice machine. He returned to the room, made an ice pack by wrapping ice up in a bath towel, held it to his shoulder and turned the TV on before sitting down at what served as a table.

Half an hour later, feeling somewhat better, he set the ice aside and went through the pockets of his coat and flannel for his phone. Failing to find it, he went out to the car. By the time he admitted defeat and accepted he no longer had it, he was dizzy and nauseous and had to lie down with more ice.

The last he remembered having the phone was at the ER. Apparently, wandering into the hospital, dirty and disheveled, bruised and bloody ensured a person wasn't to be taken seriously when they claimed to be fine and didn't require treatment.

Okay, ok…perhaps some of what had transpired could be blamed on his….inability not to flirt with the nurse and submit to her sure, firm hands as she gave him a 'professional' look over. He grinned as he recalled her willingness to…no…no, he'd behaved and had regretfully informed her he was fine and didn't need to see a doctor.

At what time, had he lost his phone? Oh…..right….probably when he'd stood up too quickly to greet the doctor who'd come to see him with news of Garth. Yeah, now he remembered…..his face had greeted the floor before the doctor had been able to greet him.

Great…just great.

Well, no need to try and figure out what had happened next. His phone had been retrieved from his unconscious self and his emergency contact would have been called.

And…Oh Fuck That Would Have Been Sam. Dean groaned and buried his head in the pillow. There'd be no getting out of the ass thrashing coming his way. Sam would be ballistic.

He gave a moment's concern to Garth and set a prayer to Cas that the quirky hunter remained safely out of Sam's reach. It would take Dean days to talk Sam down and coax him into a mood where he wouldn't want to test his theory that 80lb hunters had hollow bones and the ability to fly. He glanced at the empty bed. They'd parted ways at the hospital but had meant to meet up here at the motel. Garth hadn't shown up or called…..and if Sam was on his way, Garth had best be headed North or South or West…by flight….

Discomfort and pain and exhaustion pushed aside, his priority was calling Sam. He eased onto his side and reached for the phone. His hand hovered over the receiver. Huh….home…..yeah, it didn't have a land-line phone, did it? He tried to recall if he'd ever seen one in the bunker then his face scrunched up in a scowl when his brain kicked him; even if it did, he had no idea what the number was and no way to find it out.

Okay, fine….fine….he'd just call Sam on his cell…. He squished the receiver between his chin and good shoulder, finger poised over the push buttons on the phone…what was the number? 876 - 867 - 678 - 687….aww fuck! The numbers were new and if he'd memorized it, it sure as hell wasn't coming to him now. Neither was Garth's.

"Great." he hung up. Nothing to do but return to the hospital and ask after his phone. The pain from his shoulder left him uncomfortable and tense but he retained the ability to function. Good thing he was still dressed for he doubted he'd be able to worm his way into jeans or his boots.

Ignoring the voice in his head that warmed him to be cautious about taking too many to soon, he swallowed more ibuprofen and with one last longing look at the cozy bed, grabbed his keys and left the room. Luckily, the distance to the hospital was only a ten minute drive. He'd be back within an hour and then nothing and no one was getting him to leave that bed again.

The door closed behind him with a schnick and he failed to hear the ringing phone he'd declared useless.


	2. Chapter 2

As Sam drove towards the Budget Best Inn, Dean drove away from it towards the hospital and Garth, who didn't know what to do, remained parked on the side of the road. Dean didn't answer his cell and while Garth was certain Dean was fine, he couldn't leave without knowing Sam's brother was alive and well. While fleeing from Sam was the desired option, as he felt the more distance between them until the brothers were reunited the better his limbs chances stood to not resemble a pretzel, he couldn't do it. He couldn't leave if there was even a hint of a possibility Dean was in trouble.

So Garth drove until he found a bar and seated himself at a table with an order to the bartender to keep the rounds coming.

Dean arrived at hospital, parked in the visitor's lot and entered the ER.

Sam found the motel and began a search for a '67 black Chevy Impala.

The hospital was the last place Dean wanted to be. The ten minute drive felt like it'd taken an hour and he couldn't suppress several yawns as he made his way down the hall. He hoped no one on duty would recognize him from his earlier visit. It'd been long enough for a shift change to occur, hadn't it? He should be able to gain possession of the damn phone and slip out before any questions were asked or suspicions roused. That was his plan.

Perhaps he should have had a talk with himself and told his body the plan. Perhaps either himself or his body would have suggested he take a moment to peer into a mirror and take a good look before he oh-so-nonchalantly strolled through _the ER_ doors or perhaps either might have suggested he pay closer to attention to the looks and gasps and whispers from the people sitting around the waiting room when he passed through on his way to the information desk, bypassing the triage counter. Perhaps he might have been informed he should have paid attention to that nagging voice in his head that always sounded suspiciously like Sam about counting pills and the minutes between before taking more. Perhaps he would have been warned that it hadn't been a good idea to continue to allow Garth to pop his shoulder back where it belonged after his first failed attempt and perhaps….well perhaps….it might have been pointed out to him maybe he shouldn't have rushed from the car, through the doors and down the corridor…..because the floor was hard and unforgiving and yeah…..he didn't belong there.

***000***

Finding no Impala in the parking lot of the Budget Best Inn, or any surrounding side street, Sam entered the motel office. He left the car running; anyone dared to steal it, he'd shoot them. That was the kind of mood he was in. He was tired and cold and hungry and tired and worried and angry and tired and pissed and he couldn't spit the taste of blood from his mouth and he was tired and livid that Dean continued to elude him and the drug-addict behind the counter _dared_ to give him an attitude?

Huh, scrawny little dude with a skinny neck and a head bob that reminded him so much of Garth….and if he couldn't wrap his hands around Garth's neck and squeeze, well….the next best thing was right in front of him, sneering at him with that curled, pierced lip and…..did he just quip some cliché at him? Really?

"Doesn't ring a bell?" Sam groused, grabbing the kid by his gelled-spiked hair and banging his forehead against the counter. "Tall dude. Blue jacket. Black car. Checked in two days ago…..any bells ringing yet?" another smack. "How about now?"

"Okay!Okay!Okay!" the kid whined. "Yeah, yeah…right….yeah he's here….checked in…..room 137…. now let me go."

Sam blew his breath out, a bit troubled that he found it hard to catch and tossed a five dollar bill onto the counter. "Buy yourself a pack of Marlboro's."

"Hey!" the kid yelled indignantly. "Five bucks? Dude, a fiver won't even buy generic….."

Sam glared, threw another five towards the corner and slammed out of the office. He let himself into room 137, noticing several things upon gaining entrance from picking the lock. The room was cold, or maybe he was, so he bumped the heat up. The room had two beds, one of which showed signs of someone being on it – if not in it. The room contained Dean's duffel, coat and laptop but no one else's. A soaked towel lay on the bed, cold to the touch, ice all melted.

Calling Dean's cell – again – and receiving no answer – again – he made use of the spare bed. His brother – and it sure as hell had better not be Garth – was sure to come through that door eventually and if Sam were awake, he'd be greeted with a fist, if Sam were sleep, he'd be greeted with an irritated stare and a sloppily slurred, 'where the fuck have you been'.

Either way, he would face the wrath of Sam.

It didn't take long for Sam to fall asleep. He'd made the drive two days ago but man…..after the ER experience he was exhausted. Dean had better be ok when Sam finally got his hands on him because he was going to have to drive them home.

Home. Aaah… such pleasant dreams….the library with its leather chairs and comfy sofas and walls lined with shelves full of books and maps and journals; the kitchen with its large and numerous bins and cupboards and drawers that stored enough food to keep Dean fed for a well-fed Dean was a happy Dean. The gas stove and large fridge and recently added toaster oven and microwave….a dishwasher would be nice. Get Dean on that when they get home. The bathrooms, yes, plural, with an always/never-ending supply of hot water, get Dean to add a Jacuzzi tub while he had on his handy-man's apron.

And….the phone, the ringing phone….man…sometimes…..no….wait, wait…the bunker didn't have a land-line phone. Not that he had found anyway. Oh, no….not a phone….his cell phone with its generic ring that identified no one …..what the….? Aaah, he thought, let it go to voicemail...but no, the fog cleared from his sleep-fuddled brain and he answered. It could be someone with information on Dean.

"H'lo?" he slurred sleepily, nestling his cheek against the pillow. "Dean? This you? Where you at?"

"Hello, to whom am I speaking, please?"

"Yeah?" he mumbled with a yawn. "Who'se this?"

"Would you be Sam?" she didn't want for affirmation. "Sam, this is Eileen Pointer, RN, at Mercy Hospital ER."

He was wide awake, sitting upright and swinging his legs to the floor. "My bro…..Dean?" he'd heard this spiel before, not long ago, from the same freaking hospital. No way could this be happening again.

"I'm sorry to awaken you sir, but you are listed as an emergency contact on….." she went on, ignoring his bumbled attempt to interrupt. "…..into the ER…"

"Dean's in the ER?" he cut in coldly, all patience gone. "Again?"

"We need you to come in….."

"So, this isn't about my brother?"

"Sir?"

He forced himself to take several deep breaths and calm down. He needed to hear what she was saying but reason did not win the mental battle with anger being waged in his brain. He was going to kill Garth. Slowly, painfully, and without remorse. It had been a hunt. A simple every day, run-of-the-mill, routine, salt and burn hunt. How could Garth possibly have found a way to screw it up? There was no other possible reason for Dean to be in the hospital – the same hospital – twice in one day. Least he thought it was still the same day. He didn't really know….didn't the fucking room have a fucking clock so he could see the fucking time and what the fuck was she saying now?

"….is your brother sir?"

"You…you're saying my brother is in the hospital?" Sam got out. "Again?"

"Sir?" she asked confused.

So, they didn't know they'd seen Dean earlier or the day before or….. "Did he come in alone?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'm on my way to get him. And lady, you'd better still have him when I get there."

***000***

"Dean Smith."

"You're….you…I'm sorry, you're who?"

Dean frowned, blinking up at the bright light. Wait, he was laying down? "Huh….Dean…Dean Smith….." he repeated, his brow furrowed in confusion. How many times did they need to hear him say it? "I was here earlier….my partner was brought in with a smashed-up hand….I think...I left my cell phone here…." he raised his head, looked around, looked down and used his thumbs and forefingers to lift the sheet. "Aaww…fuck…..not again." he groaned. He was naked, striped-of-all-his-clothes naked, lying on an examine table in the hospital ER, clothes nowhere to be seen, his head hurt and...

"Just relax sir." the nurse soothed. "You're in the ER but you're going to be fine." she gave him an encouraging smile and picked up the wall phone. "Dr. Miffler please."

Dean's frown deepened. Who the hell was Dr. Miffler and – the overhead speaker cackled to life – why was he being paged? Neither he nor Garth had seen a Dr. Miffler and if he hadn't seen Dean as a doctor treating a fainting patient in the ER, why did he need to see Dean now that his name was known?

"Dr. Miffler will be right with you." the nurse smiled politely. "You just relax…we're waiting on some test results from the blood lab but it appears you might have been overcome from the discomfort of your shoulder."

"I don't understand. I don't need a doctor. I'm not here to see a doctor. I lost my cellphone…just point me in the direction of the lost and found department and I'll be on my way." Dean argued but being naked save for a sheet wasn't doing anything to convince her. "As soon as you GIMME back my clothes!"

"Dr. Miffler would like to speak with you." she had that smug, patient, fake smile that had she been male, Dean doubted he'd have fought the urge to slap right off her face. "He'll be but a moment."

"Fine, fine….fine….hey in the meantime, could you point me towards lost and found? Well, you know, after you gimme back my clothes?" he was starting to feel better, stronger and the need to flee was his first priority. Flee before they somehow found a reason and a way to call Sam...again.

"Describe your phone for me sir, and I will call down and see if one like it has been turned in."

Dean was not getting his way and frustration threated to override his calm demeanor. He wanted his phone and he wanted it now. He gave the nurse the description and struggled to sit up while the call to lost and found was placed. The nurse spoke briefly, smiled, nodded her head and hung up.

"It is there." she announced and before Dean could make his own announcement that he would go retrieve it and return – not that he would – she went on to say someone was on their way up with it. "Now…now….relax…..here, would you like to sit up?" she raised the head of the examine table slightly. "There, is that better? Do you feel dizzy or light-headed? Nauseous perhaps? No? Good, that's good, very good." she chatted away. "Would you like some water? How about we try ice chips first? See how you do with that."

"Yeah, sure." Dean growled. He felt and groped for the sheet and eyed the distance to the door. He could clutch it about his waist and make a run for it; he'd just need to hike it up to his knees to keep from tripping. "Look, I'm fine. Really….just a day of you know….home-made pain-killer." yeah, they'd believe that, half a bottle of rot-gut whiskey to dull the throb in his shoulder. That and….oh. Uh-oh…..how many ibuprofen had he taken? And was there a way they'd know? How many were too many and considered an attempt on one's life? No….oh, for pete's sake…no. He hadn't taken that many, surely not a bottle or even half the bottle….maybe eight or twelve….definitely not more than sixteen. And he'd only taken ibuprofen…hadn't he? Right? _Right!?_

OH DEAR GOD! What if this Dr. Mifffler was a shrink, from psyche...on his way to _commit_ him?! He had to get out of there..RIGHT NOW!

"Mr. Smith." Dr. Miffler held his hand out. "May I have a moment of your time?"

"Well, I'm rather in a hurry…..not that it appears I'll be going anywhere anytime some. Where are my clothes? Better yet, why ain't I in them? I mighta passed out but I'm fine and ready to leave."

"I wish to talk to you about….."

"Is this about Garth?" Dean let his eyes close. Huh, sitting up seemed to be disagreeing with him. "Man, I'm gonna wring his scrawny neck….."

"Are you associated with a Sam Smith?"

"Sam…..Sam…..who….whoa...wait a minute, hold up….what?" Dean stuttered. Sam? He wanted to know about...Sam? So, not a pysche doctor. "Sam….as in…..my Sam?"

"Sam Smith." Dr. Miffler watched him closely. "So, you are acquainted with him?"

"What about him?" he asked warily. "You….you didn't call him did you? Oh God, not again….how? You got him on speed-dial? Geesch!"

"I don't understand." Dr. Miffler waited but when Dean didn't clarify, he continued. "I was hoping you could tell me more about him. I don't see how he possibly could have walked into this hospital on his own but we haven't….."

"Walk? He walked…..wait. Are you saying...no." Dean shook his head. "He couldn't have walked...not my Sam...not into this hospital….when?" his mind whirling with calculations, he didn't pay the doctor much attention. Even in his tired, pain-filled, confused state, he knew there was no possible way Sam could have received a phone call - either time - in Lebanon, and arrive in Lemay unless…Cas?

"I agree." Dr. Miffler said firmly. "But he did..."

"No, he didn't." Dean disputed just as firmly. "He couldn't have...I mean...he'd have to have already been...here." couldn't have been Sam. Not without Cas and Cas was...fuck, he couldn't think straight. Why couldn't he think straight? Just how many ibuprofen had he taken and what shelf had that liquor come from? "He's not in town...he's...home...in Kansas."

"Mr. Smith, are you saying...the reason you believe Mr. Smith did not walk into this hospital is because you believe he's not in town?" Dr. Miffler stepped aside so the nurse could approach with the cup of ice slivers. "I just require a few more moments of your time to ask some further questions and then I will leave so they may get you settled. Now…."

"Huh? What? Settle me? Settle me where?" Dean pulled his attention back to the doctor who patiently waited for answers. "Uh…..yeah." he rubbed at his forehead as his head began to pound with a vengeance. "Aahh, tall guy, mop of brown hair? He's my brother but…he wouldn't be here." he started to raise his arm, caught the movement with a wince and bit back a gasp of pain. "He's….not in town…with me." he obediently opened his mouth for the insertion of the spoon loaded with slivers of shaved ice.

"Apparently, he came in response to a call placed to him regarding…..you."

"Me? Well, ok yeah, I was here…..but…..he…..I mean no, we live in…he couldn't have been here. It's what, an eight-hour drive and….." he trailed off as thought overwhelmed speech. "Was he alone?" he asked. The doctor shot him a look then nodded. Dean growled. If Sam had walked into the ER - alone - because the hospital contacted him when Dean had kissed the floor the first time, he'd already been in town. "I'll kill him." Dean muttered. "I'm gonna kick his ass to Mexico."

"It would appear someone has already done so. His test results….."

"Wait… HIS WHAT?!" Dean braced his weight on his good arm with his palm against the mattress and pushed himself upright. "Did you say tests? He had tests? He _allowed_ that? Was he admitted?"

"Oh yes. Yes, indeed he was. Admitted that is." Dr. Miffler frowned. "The damage to his lungs and the internal bleeding, his blood pressure and white cell count, along with the swelling of his….."

"Where is he?" Dean interrupted. No sense sitting around being asked questions he could never explain. He had to get to Sam and get him the hell out of the hospital. "I need to see him. NOW!" and he would just as soon as he found his clothes. "AND where the HELL are my CLOTHES?"

"Yes, yes, well see, that's simply not possible." the doctor sighed. "We don't have him."

"Say what?"

"I called three surgeons for a consult…..by the time they got to the ER…he was gone."

Dean flopped back against the mattress, groan turning into a grin. Good ole Sammy.

"We need to find him. I've contacted the local authorities. Your brother is a very ill man. His injuries….."

"Yeah, yeah…yeah." Dean waved him off, no longer actively listening to a word the doctor was saying. "Oh…uh….huh? Authorities? What the…no…no need….I know about his illness….he's uh…under a doctor's care…."

"Really?" the doctor responded doubtfully. "May I have his number?"

"Sure…sure…..soon as I get my cellphone." Dean supplied smoothly. "And my clothes." even out-of-the-blue, Kevin would be able to weave some cockamamie story to temporarily satisfy the doctor so Dean could make his escape even if clad only in a sheet.

"So, you're aware of his…..condition?"

"Yeah, yeah….he's….you know…young. He'll…..uh….well, what do all the experts say?…youth and all that."

"Mr. Smith. I think you fail to understand the severity of your brother's condition. You need to take this seriously."

"I do." Dean said quietly. Sam had been in town when the hospital had called. He'd walked into the hospital in response to the call and apparently had walked out again. Dean was missing something….something didn't make sense….something didn't add up. "How…..did he…..? He submitted to treatment? Why?"

"No." Dr. Miffler was studying him closely. "He became quite agitated with the nurse at the desk when she couldn't tell him where you were. Before it could be explained to him that you were no longer here….he began to cough up blood and he passed out."

Must be something about the ER's floor that attracted Winchesters.

"Aah, there's your phone. Let's see about finding your clothes. Perhaps you can attempt to contact your brother while I call his physician."

"Sure…sure." Dean took the phone, hugged it with his hand and resisted the urge to kiss it. "Okay, here we go, Dr. Tran." he read off the number and the doctor wrote it down on the clipboard he held. "My clothes?" he prompted the nurse. Ten missed calls, five voice mails, at least fifteen texts with a question mark. Oh yeah, Sam was floundering off in the deep end all right.

He thumbed history, curious to see what time the hospital had called Sam….let's see…..okay, there…yeah, no way Sam had made it to the hospital from Lebanon. The lying, sneaky son of a bitch had already been in Lemay when the hospital had called. The question was why and where the hell was he now?

He'd have his own motel room…so…..

"Hey…..you have yellow pages anywhere around?" he asked the nurse who offered him more ice that he greedily accepted.

"You mean, a phone book?" she asked. "I suppose…..no one uses it anymore, do they? Do you require a cab? I'm not sure the doctor has authorized your release but if he allows you to leave, we have a cab company we always call."

"Say what?" he became aware the nurse was talking to him and he hadn't been listening. "Yeah, sure…huh, no."

"You have someone you can call to come pick you up then? We don't let patients who faint in our hall and regain consciousness drive themselves off hospital property."

"I didn't faint! And I wasn't unconscious!" Dean seethed. "Not then! I mean, I was but now I'm not and then I wasn't and not then!"

"Relax sir, no need to get excited." she tsked-tsked, offering him more ice. "Now….."

"Get away from me!" he threatened. "Good God, leave a man alone why don't you?"

Now that he had the doctor's phone number of the man who defied modern medicine, Dr. Miffler left the room to place a call and the nurse gave up her attempt to coax Dean into eating more ice and went in search of his clothes. Finally alone, Dean scrolled for Sam's number. He really needed to add it to speed dial. He wanted to simply send a text but two things stopped him: One, Sam would blow up should he receive a smiley-face on the screen - and he would, for Dean would be unable to resist baiting him - and would use more than his fist to thrash Dean's ass when the inevitable fight happened and Two, Dean couldn't see clearly enough to make out any of the letters to try to type. His thumb was ready to hit send when the phone rang in his hand.

Garth.

Dean wavered…..he really wasn't in any mood to deal with Garth. Though…..well, there was Sam. If – because Dean was having a hard time believing he was – _if_ Sam was in town, in his current state of mind and the way he felt and crossed paths with Garth….…..Dean would have to unknot Garth from a position that would make a Cirque Du Soleil performer jealous.

"Garth…this better be good."

"Sam's in Lemay." Garth promptly said. "I don't know how or why or when but he's here and I think he's mad."

"You think?" Dean asked, amused despite the situation. "Tell me Garth, what was your first clue?"

"Uh, nailing my toes to a roof and hanging me upside down and tying my arms into a French knot and I think he threatened my face with his fist and oh yeah, wishing to see me in traction. I gotta tell you Dean, I don't think I like your brother much."

"You've spoken to him?"

"Oh yeah, he called." Garth said breathlessly. "I'm not coming back to meet you. Gonna give him some time and a lot of distance to cool off."

"Naw….he's harmless." Dean chuckled. "But dude, seriously, eat a burger…...you know? Maybe have a side of fries and a chocolate shake. You put some weight on and he won't be able to twist you like you're made of play-doh."

"Ha-ha…not funny!" Garth disagreed. "I'll see you a postcard from….you think maybe Arizona's far enough to run? Or maybe Mexico. He can't cross the border into Mexico, can he?"

"Yeah, Garth, pretty sure he can." Dean struggled not to laugh outright. Scared of Sam? _Sam_. Really? "Not like if he crosses the line, he'll go poof!"

"No…..I meant…..he doesn't have a passport and his fake credentials wouldn't hold up to…."

"Garth….hey…..hey…..easy pal, calm down." Dean coached. "You're good…Sam can't cross the border into Mexico….."

"Good to know." Garth breathed in relief. "Whew man! Had me sweating!"

"Legally." Dean finished, laughing out loud at Garth's wail. "Sorry, sorry…..yeah…..couldn't resist…seriously Garth….he ain't coming after you so chill out."

"You sure?"

"Yup. He's going to be too busy trying to kick my ass to worry about you."

"Maybe not right away…" Garth paused. "Just…..he was freaking out over you being at the ER, you know?"

"Yeah, I bet he was." Dean sighed.

"You know where he is?"

"No…..but the hospital's looking for him, called the cops."

"So, that's not good."

"Working on getting back to him, you go on back to the motel."

"Hell no. That's probably where he is." Garth took a breath. "Look Dean, remember that odd object Casper had in its hand when it threw you down the stairs? You should be more careful, you know. Fighting at the top of a flight of steps isn't wise..."

"Garth." Dean warned wearily. "No wandering off on a tirade, huh?" he hadn't been the one to make the error at the top of the steps that had resulted in his tumble to the bottom. It had been Garth. Best Sam never found that out.

"I had a call in to a buddy, another hunter, good guy…..likes to read and do more research then hunt but…."

"Garth, the path, get back on track here buddy."

"Right, right, you're probably tired and want to get some sleep. How's the shoulder? Oh, by the way, Sam knows about that too and yeah, he wasn't happy. He yelled at me Dean. Man, you shudda heard him. Heck when he called, he pissed my phone off. Did you know a phone can have an angry ring?"

"You just told him?" Dean cut in. Nothing new there, never could hide anything from Sam. "Just popped right up in conversation, huh?"

"Sure….yeah, right." Garth sounded perplexed. "Sam wasn't happy Dean. Does he ever yell at you? I gotta say, I was glad he was on the phone….gentle giant Bobby once described him. I think not. Why he….."

"GARTH!" Dean barked. "Sitting naked in the ER here, got one hand…..get to the point."

"Right, right….it didn't touch you did it?"

"Casper? Yeah Garth….you watched him do it." Dean said bitterly. A fighter Garth was not.

"Yeah, yeah, ye…NO, no, I mean no!" Garth backtracked. "Not the ghost….the talisman in its hand."

"No…I don't….I…..why?"

"Dude….did you get a good look at it? Would you recognize it? You know, if you saw it again? Like, in a picture?"

"Yeah….yeah, I get you Garth." Dean frowned. "Why?"

"It was a talisman to ward against evil….."

"What?" Dean cut him off. "Evil? I'm not evil? How could anyone think me evil?" he asked affronted.

"Not you, you. You as in the person wishing the holder of the talisman harm." Garth explained.

"It was a spirit Garth…they can't wield talismans." Dean said exasperated. "And if they could, I doubt it'd have any powers or have the ability to do me harm. Now, look….I…."

"So, it did touch you? How do you feel? Do you feel ok? Soon as I find a safe haven from Sam, I will research…."

"Garth, there's no need." Dean broke in hastily. "I can recognize it and Sammy's happiest when researching. So cool dude, we got it covered." he looked up and smiled at the girl who hovered in the doorway with his clothes in her hand, so involved giving her a wink and saucy grin, he missed whatever Garth had said and he didn't feel the need to ask him to repeat it. "Yeah, my clothes are here so let me go….."

"YOU'RE NOT GONNA TELL SAM!" Garth shrieked.

"Garth….Garth…..Yo, Garth!" Dean eyed the nurse. Yeah, he was gonna need help getting dressed. "Calm down buddy. Look, wherever you are….stay there. Let me get outta here and catch up with Sam. I'll give him a call once I'm in the car, okay?"

Dean had no reason to suspect the staff had taken his phone and placed a call to Sam before it'd been handed over to him so he had no idea Sam was on his way to the ER to get him.

"Yeah, look, here's the doc to release me. I'll call you in a bit." he hung up and grinned up at the doctor. "So, can I go?"


	3. Chapter 3

Garth tossed back and downed his fifth shot of…Sherry. He savored the last drop and plopped his glass down. The bartender might giggle whenever he cast a glance Garth's way, but he didn't understand why Garth needed the calming influence of alcohol. No one could possibly understand.

Sam Winchester was in Lemay, not tucked up in Kansas where he was supposed to be. And he was pissed. At Garth. Because he wanted his brother and Garth couldn't produce him.

Dean Winchester was sitting naked in the ER.

And Garth…..well Garth was busy trying to come up with a solution that didn't end with him joining Dean in the ER, in traction, with a tube up his dick, drinking his meals through a straw. He wasn't completely sure, but he was quite sure, a person drank their meals through a straw when their jaw was wired shut, from being broken, by a fist, the size of a ham...

It hadn't hit Garth until after he'd hung up that Dean had left the ER the same time Garth had, and that'd been hours ago. That realization was what made him give up his fruity cocktails and order a bottle of the hard stuff. What the hell was Dean doing back in the ER?

What was an accomplished hunter to do? Go willingly to his torture at the hands of a pissed-off giant, that's what. He pushed back from the table, tipped his hat at the giggling bartender and strode from the bar with a swagger that many a woman would be proud to flounce.

Hang on Dean, I'm coming. I'll get you out of the ER and back to your brother before Cyclone Sammy destroys the ER, the hospital, and the whole damn town tearing it apart looking for you.

He couldn't, wouldn't leave either brother. Being the sibling of the man who bore the title, 'Super Sam the Researcher' simply wasn't enough. Dean needed to know more about what Garth had found out about the talisman Casper the Ghost had had in its possession.

***000***

The doctor folded his hands and let them dangle as he considered the best way to handle the….ehrm, man who he just knew was going to be obstinate, the man who was his most perplexing patient. Dean Smith. Yeah, right, might as well use the name John Doe.

The doctor silently admitted defeat. He was never going to know who this man was, what had happened to him or make him understand leaving the hospital would be detrimental to his very health. Numerous bruises, several which were severe, a recently set dislocated shoulder that was swollen and speaking of swelling – the left side of his body, from his ear to his smallest toe – swollen. Touchy elbow, tender wrist….puffy knee…..bruised hip bone. Swollen jaw, cuts and scrapes and abrasions, black left eye, split lip, and scratched cheek.

How the hell had he strolled into the ER with a how-do-you-do, have-you-seen-my-phone and insist he hadn't come for treatment?

"Yeah." the doctor snorted. "Right, sure….get up and walk out….go ahead….I dare you." he grinned at the look of startled astonishment that crossed the younger man's face as his eyebrows shot up, met in the middle then smoothed out. "I'll stand aside, right here, and watch you attempt to do it."

"Sure thing." Dean nodded. "Soon as I get dressed." he didn't recall speaking to anyone upon entering the ER the second time, yet they knew his name, knew Sam had been called after the first time Dean had passed out on the ER floor. He was really going to have to avoid that floor.

"Mind telling how you came about receiving those injuries?"

Dean sighed, pulling his attention back to the doctor awaiting answers. What injuries? Good grief, his shoulder hurt, big deal. Okay, sure…..he was probably pale, eyes might be a bit shadowed with exhaustion but come on….! Well….he frowned. Now that it had been brought to his attention….maybe his wrist ached and his foot might be throbbing and yeah, his jaw hurt, which was weird but…and oh hell, what the hell was wrong with his hip?

"Aah….yeah….." he thought back to his earlier tumble down a flight of steps. Concrete steps. He was like the toddler who fell unnoticed by his mother, got up and went right back to playing unless someone saw him fall and made a fuss, then the waterworks and screaming started. "Me and my partner…..I fell down a flight of steps. Can I go?"

He'd been so focused on his shoulder and Garth's attempts to reset it that he hadn't really paid his various other aches and pains much attention. First, he'd wanted to sleep, then he'd been preoccupied with finding his phone and calling Sam and then…Oh Shit.

Sam.

Right, Sammy was in town. And looking for him. And he'd been to the hospital once….and he sure as hell didn't need to come again.

"I can't force you to stay but I strongly recommend…" the doctor was saying.

Dean held a finger up to signal the doctor he needed a moment and thumbed Sam's number but before he could press send, the nurse popped up by his side, took the phone from his hand and offered to help him dress.

"I'll write you a prescription for pain relief."

***000***

This time Sam parked his car in the hospital parking lot. He looked for the Impala but nope, not found. He entered the hospitals main entrance doors, thinking only after he was directed to the ER that perhaps he should have parked in the visitor's lot at the ER. Oh well. What difference did it make anyway?

Had he done so, he would have seen the Impala sitting pretty under the street lamp.

Head throbbing, stomach growling, he hopped on the elevator that would take him to the ER. Of course, it just had to be on the complete opposite side of the hospital. One large palm flat against his stomach, he guessed his headache was a result of not recalling the last time he'd had something to eat. Once he had his wayward brother within his sight, he would figure out what and where to eat and when.

"Hello."

Sam glanced up through his bangs, keeping his head lowered. The elevators other occupant appeared to be a doctor and she openly perused him with an appreciative gleam in her eye.

"Let me guess." she smiled. "Either ER or cafeteria." she held a coffee cup in her hand. "You_ look_ like you should be headed to the ER but you, or rather your stomach _sounds_ like you need a meal."

Sam couldn't help the grin that tugged up the corner of his mouth. "Uh….both actually. ER first though. Not for me….need to check on someone first then yeah, lunch sounds great."

"Dinner." she corrected with a laugh. "Same floor off the elevator. ER to the left, cafeteria to the right. If you're not long at the ER, join me for a sandwich. I'll be there for a while. Take a break whenever I get one."

"Uh….thanks...but...I don't think...no, I..." Sam shrugged. "Sorry."

The elevator stopped, the doors opened and Sam stood aside to allow ladies first then stepped out behind her.

"Dr. Dixit."

Sam froze, groaned, then cursed. Of all the shitty luck…...he bolted right.

"Dr. Miffler?" she greeted warmly. "You're still here? Long day for you."

"Oh, I was called back in. Patient in the ER.

"Not your missing medical marvel." she teased.

"No. But it pertained to him. A Dean Smith walked into the ER with his law partner who was brought in for treatment to an injured hand. Mr. Smith fainted in the ER and his emergency contact on his phone was contacted, his brother, Sam Smith. Who we now know was the patient I contacted you for a consult. Once Sam Smith arrived, he too collapsed in the ER. Somehow, at some time, one way or another, both managed to remove themselves from the hospital."

"Smith?" Helen repeated. "So, Sam...tall, mop of brown hair, white male, late twenties, slim….."

"That would be him." Dr. Miffler confirmed. "Mr. Dean Smith showed up in the ER two hours or so ago asking after his cellphone and fainted in the ER after giving his name to the girl at the information desk."

"And he's where now?" Helen asked. "Dean Smith." she clarified.

"Still in the ER. I saw him myself. He appears to have lost a boxing match with someone thrice his size."

"I see." she sounded amused. "They've been quite the pair, haven't they?" she turned back to the elevator. "I believe I may have found one." she waved a hand towards the elevator but it was empty. "Huh…..where'd he go?"

Sam scurried down the hall, around the corner, ducked behind a rack of trays and waited. When neither doctor appeared, he went back the way he'd come, past the elevator and down the hall that led to the ER.

He didn't have to ask questions, the nurses were all a twitter about the handsome man who charmed all the ladies, awaiting the return of his clothes in curtain two. He causally strode down the corridor like he knew exactly where he was going, approached curtain two, grabbed the white privacy curtain, whipped it back and roared.

He ripped the sheet off its rings and the rings from the track in the ceiling for when he pushed it aside an empty exam table save for a very familiar cellphone was revealed.

***000***

Dressed, car keys in hand, prescriptions in pocket, several samples of pain medications secreted upon his person, humped over and panting, sweat heavily lining his forehead and making his palms slick, Dean strode from the ER with as much defiant pride a man who'd been thrown down a flight of concrete steps could muster. Which meant, he stumbled and staggered and weaved and god dammit to hell, he had to cross that fucking ER floor...

Walk Dean, one foot in front of the other. Like we've practiced. Step, ow, step, ow, step, ow, right foot, oh shit, left foot, oh fuck, right foot…..uh-oh, oh-no, going down. Man, he was sure he hadn't felt like this before. He was getting old. All stiff and achy, muscles tight, joints swollen, skin bruised and taut. Oh hello floor...again, for the third time.

"Hey there dude." Garth popped up under Dean's right arm. Light and scrawny he might be but no strong gust of wind was around to knock him on his ass and the support he was able to lend Dean was enough to keep the heavier hunter upright and walking. "I've got you….come on…..car's right over there, outside….you're good, that's it...bit further is all."

"Garth?" Dean blew his breath out, leaning against the comforting solid mass of black steel that had supported him his entire life. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Askin' you the same dude." Garth let him go and reached around him to open the passenger door of the Impala. "Easy goin' down...watch your head...easy...easy...that's it, you good?"

"My phone….." he slurred. Well, that wasn't right…why was his tongue so thick? He stuck it out, crossed his eyes, wiggled it about but failed to make it visible. "Left…my….cell...here...in there." he plunked himself deeper down on the leather seat but didn't swing his feet in. "Gotta…call Sammy…."

"Sure…..sure….gimme your phone….I'll call him while you catch your breath." Garth opened the passenger back door and rooted around the collection of…..stuff on the back seat and in the foot well. "You got a towel or something? Oh…here…" he held a discarded t-shirt to his nose and took a whiff, clean enough. "Here, wipe your face…gimme your phone."

Dean patted his pocket, then his other. He laid back, bumping his head on the steering wheel and growled. He patted the front pockets of his jeans, squirmed his ass about, feeling for the familiar lump…..

"Aww FUCK!" he exploded, punching the back of the seat. "Musta left it inside."

"Okay, ok. No worries, we're good..." Garth hastened to reassure him. "Here, call him on mine…..feeling better yet?"

He was feeling bad? Dean frowned, struggling to clear the foggy cobwebs from his head. Now, let's see…..ok, pretty sure the doctor had given him a shot in the ass, well hip…he blew his breath out in an aggravated huff. Ass or hip, did it matter? Probably not a good thing on top of all that ibuprofen and cheap whiskey. He pulled a pout...ooohh Sam was going to have a squalling, bawling full-grown cow when he found that out. And find out he would...he always found out everything! Couldn't keep a secret from him, no sirreee!

"Dean." Garth was calling repeatedly.

"Sam...ER...wants him...he...they're...looking for him."

"Here, it's water." Garth uncapped the bottle and handed it to Dean who sat up to take it. "Okay, sit tight….he's not answering….let me send him a text then I'll go in and get your phone." he waited but Dean sat and stared stupidly at the bottle in his hand as though he had no idea what it was or what he was supposed to do with it. "Drink it." Garth ordered with a chuckle. "Man….what'd they give you? You're loopy-de-looped."

"Good, good, I'm good." Dean sang. "I'm goo-goo-gooey-good."

"Okay, ok, good. Drink. Stay." he motioned a sitting position with his hands, patting Dean on his head when Dean slumped against the seat and pulled his feet into the car. "Good boy, stay in the car, ok? I'll be right back."

Satisfied Dean would stay put, Garth strolled into the ER. He paused inside the door, trying to decide how best to go about asking after or locating the phone when the overhead speaker cackled for security to report immediately to the ER followed by a request for an orderly to respond to curtain two, stat.

"SOMEONE HAD BETTER TELL ME WHERE MY BROTHER IS RIGHT NOW!" followed with. "….most inefficient…..poorly organized…ill-staffed, incompetent ER….been in! How the HELL…MANY TIMES...lose the same person?!"

"Uh-oh." Garth knew that voice. He didn't hear every word but he understood Sam was on the warpath. He squared his shoulders, sucked in his breath, threw his chest out, and like he was leading a cavalry charging into battle, strode forward. "Now see here…." he waddled his way past a cluster of three doctors and two nurses but went ignored. "Oh, oh…oh this is not good."

A chorus of different voices, both male and female babbled over one another as they spoke to or attempted to reason with a defiant Sam Winchester, who was demanding his brother be produced or he would tear the hospital apart curtain by curtain and no one had better stand in his way.

"Sam…..Sam…Sammmmmm!" Garth remained unnoticed. Unable to make himself heard over the chaos, he clapped his hands, he whistled, he banged medical instruments together, he stomped his feet….he kicked a stool on wheels across the floor. "AAAEEEAAHHHH!" he let loose an ear-splitting whoop, backed up several steps, and with a running leap, charged full steam ahead. He threw himself at Sam, arms outstretched in a quarterback sack to tackle Sam to the floor.

He bounced. Off a brick wall. Also known as, Sam's chest. And landed so hard on his ass, his teeth clacked. He stared up in bewilderment at Sam who, not even knocked off balance, reached out for him with his fists.

"Escapee from psyche!" someone yelled and received a response asking if a straightjacket was required.

"What the hell are you doing Garth?" Sam demanded with a huff and roll of his eyes. He so didn't need this now. Not when the doctor was attempting to talk him into admitting himself and allowing surgeons to examine him. No one was answering any of his questions regarding his brother. Hell, they acted like they had no idea what he was talking about or who and apparently no one on staff was aware of a nurse with the name Marlene Painter.

Okay, yes, as someone had suggested, perhaps he did have the name wrong, who knew, who cared. Someone from this hospital had called him and they'd better produce his brother, or else.

"Sam…Sam….hey there big guy…whoa…come on now….." Garth held his hands up. "Easy there…"

"I'll rephrase that, what the fuck are YOU doing _here_?"

"I'm…." Garth began but two huge hands lodged under his arm pits and he was lifted off his ass but not put on his feet as he expected. He was held, feet off the floor, eye level with Sam who, with murder in his eyes, shook him until he yelped. "RESCUING YOU! I'm rescuing you!"

"Put him down this instance!" someone ordered.

Garth gulped, feet kicking as his mind whirled. How was he supposed to get them out of this? "Yes…yes….aah, yes. Grand idea. Put me down." he nodded vigorously. "You don't want to hurt me."

"Oh. Yes. I. Do." Sam spit out.

"No, no, no…no you don't." he stopped kicking, and with his head beckoned Sam to bring him closer. Sam didn't budge, didn't blink. "The hard way it is." Garth took a breath, grabbed Sam's left ear, yanked and butted heads with Sam .

Sam howled in outrage, dropping Garth to clutch at his ear and his nose. An orderly, straightjacket in hand, hung back, unsure who to grab and wrestle into the restraints. He watched dumbfounded when Garth, now on his feet, squawking about being tied into knots and not wanting to be a pretzel, fled from the room. Sam, promising hot nails would be driven through his toes, on his heels.

"Sam….Sam….Dean's outside…. I left him in the car….come on…you can kill me later…..let's just get out of here." Garth panted when the back of his jacket was bunched up and he was jerked backwards off his feet into Sam's grasp. "See….come on…..I sent you a text….honest…I came in after his phone…..see….see…" he tried to run but he was a cartoon character, feet running on the floor but running in place for Sam effortlessly held him with one hand. "Sam….see…come on…..they're coming after us…Dean's right outside…..honest….come on!"

Sam let him go and pushed him ahead as they burst out the ER doors, down the sidewalk….across the parking lot to a parking spot that contained only an empty water bottle.

()()()()

Dean gulped from the bottle until it was empty then dropped it and closed the door….with his right hand. He held the offending appendage in front of his face and struggled to recognize it. Oh, right….right hand, huh, weird. What was he doing over here in Sammy's seat? He slanted a look to his left…he belonged over there.

First one foot, then the other, slide his ass…ow….across the seat….ow….hip hurt, foot hurt, arm hurt….elbow didn't want to bend, shoulder didn't want to move, arm refused to straighten out…fingers wouldn't curl…..ass cheek stung…ooooh right…..freaking doctor and his freaking needle…alrighty-roo…he patted the dashboard over the steering column…..._now this seat fit his ass. _This is where he belonged.

Ok, steering wheel, brake pedal, gas pedal…..right arm obeying all commands, that was good…..keys…..keys…did he have keys? Not sure he could hotwire….whoop….there they were…ignition….ooooh, just listen to that purr…okay Baby, let's go find us a wayward brother who isn't where the hell he's supposed to be.

***000***

Garth gulped. He put his hands out in front of him and began backing away, one step at a time. He didn't want to make any quick or rash movements and startle Sam.

"He was right there Sam. RIGHT THERE! The car, the Impala, both were right there."

"Do you see him?" Sam asked eerily. "You know Garth, I might have a headache and I can't recall the last time I had something to eat and my eyesight ain't so good these days so maybe, just maybe, I might miss spotting my brother were he, you know, a distance away from me, but there's no fucking way I would miss a 200+ inch long, 3500 lb CAR Garth!" he ended in a roar. "I'M GOING TO END YOU!"

"No! No, no, no, no…nononononononono!" he hopped and danced, arms flapping in such a flamboyant display that Sam was struck immobile. "Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam." he chanted, dancing and bobbing. "No Sam, Sam no. No Sam, no Sam, no Sam….."

"ENOUGH!" Sam shook his head, snapping the image of Garth's head on the body of a chicken from his mind. "Where IS he Garth?!"

"I don't know!" he threw his hands up. "I don't! Honest Sam, I left him right here!" he gestured wildly. "Right here!"

Sam crossed his arms over this chest and stared Garth down. "You left him, _right here_?"

"Yes!" Garth nodded. "In the car…"

"Where did he go?"

Garth thought about it, head tilted in concentration. "Well…" a calm Sam was a good thing, wasn't it? "Maybe…he drove…." crap, wrong thing to say.

"Drove? He DROVE?! You let him have the keys?!"

"What? No!"

"I doubt he was in any condition to hot wire it."

"But….no! I left him in the passenger seat! He couldn't have driven away!"

"Oh. So you don't think he could have just slid across the seat and drove off?!

"No, no….he didn't…I mean, how could he have? He could barely walk! There's no way he could drive…not in his condition."

"And what condition would that be Garth? He dislocated his shoulder. He can handle that kind of pain."

"Well, sure…sure he can." Garth agreed. "It's just….."

"It's just what Garth?"

"Well….no…..but…..well see….maybe, I guess…." he began backing away as Sam stalked him.

"Is he hurt?" Sam asked. "Garth?"

"Well, I didn't think so. He didn't say anything but you know….maybe….the steps….."

"What steps?"

"The flight he fell down."

"The…..the…the flight?! Fuck me Garth, you told me he dislocated his shoulder falling down the steps."

"He DID!"

"You do know that most people differentiate steps from stairs, don't you? Steps are one or two, at most maybe five. It isn't a flight of steps, it's a flight of stairs…now what the hell did he fall down?"

"Stairs! A flight of stairs! Okay, ok, I'm sorry! Sam….Sam….what are you doing? Hey, no….don't! I break easily, I assure you! Sammmmm….."

"Shall we see if you bounce?" Sam threatened. "Did he fall or was he thrown?"

Garth didn't see a difference but Sam obviously did. "Aah, he…..the spirit…..it….."

"Thrown then." Sam growled. "And you left him alone? What the hell is the matter with you?" his hands pushed through hair, holding his bangs back. "Did he at least break his fall on the railing?"

"AAh, no…there wasn't a railing. Well, there was but it was in the wall….more of a hand rail….what? Why are you looking at me like that? Sam…..Sam…"

"Concrete? The flight of stairs was concrete?"

"Yeah, yes….does that matter? I mean…..he got up and walked away Sam. Other than his shoulder…he was ok!"

"And you know that how? Did you ask him? Did you check him over?"

"Because he said he was fine!"

"He's an ASS Garth! A lying jerk who wouldn't admit he was hurt if his bone was sticking through his skin!"

"Oh."

"When I have time, I'm going to kill you." Sam vowed. "Slowly and painfully."

"We have to find him." Garth said suddenly, voice small. "The doctor, aah, gave him something for the pain…he was pretty loopy when I left him to…."

"Yeah, when you left him." Sam sneered. "Again….you're good at that, aren't you?" he thumbed his eyelids closed. "How do you suggest we find him Garth?"

"Well, huh…..Oh." he brightened. "He probably went back to the motel. My car's right there, I'll drive." Garth smacked his palms together. "….you….you, well you….you be you and…..emote."

"And you think he can find the motel?"

"Sure, sure…he knows where it is….."

"Just let me grab my bag from my car….I can leave it here."

"Borrowed huh?"

Sam walked away, slowing when he realized he was parked on the other side of the hospital. He could either walk around the building or have Garth drive him.

"SAM! Where are you going? My car's right there…..Sam? Hey, Sam."

Sam walked to his car.

***000***

Garth pulled into the motel parking lot. He was tense, a tension headache making his neck stiff and his eyes burn. Course, the strain on his eyes undoubtedly came from keeping one eye on the road and the other on Sam during the drive to the motel.

Neither said anything. The car idled in front of the motel room, where no sleek black car was parked.

"What do you have to say for yourself now?" Sam managed to say. Inwardly, he exploded. Emotion pinged throughout him and he teetered on panic, frantic long behind him.

Garth couldn't find a word to speak. And it wasn't because he was scared of Sam or intimidated into silence. It was because he was genuinely worried.

"I'll call…." Garth began.

"Call who? The police?"

"Maybe he broke down or…"

"In the Impala?" Sam snorted. "I can't go back to that hospital Garth. If he's….if there's been..an….accid…"

"My PHONE!" Garth squealed, hands flapping as he frantically felt himself up. "My phone….Sam…my phone…I gave it to him to call….while I went to get his."

Sam pulled his phone from the pocket of his coat. No missed calls, no voice mails, no texts from Garth's phone.

"Is your GPS on?" Sam asked as he scrolled through his contact list.

"Always." Garth nodded.

"Track it." Sam ordered as he put the phone to his ear. "And Garth? I'm done with idle threats. You don't come back with his location...don't come back."

()()()()

Dean squinted against the glare from the over bright street lamps that were further and further apart. Huh, odd…he didn't remember a lake. He shook his head and the car swerved with the motion. He let off the gas and guided it back to the center of his lane. Well, between two lines anyway.

A car came at him, lights so bright, he cursed at the driver for having his high beams on. As if he'd been heard, the car blared its horn and Dean flipped him off.

"Prick." he muttered, steering one-handed because his left arm wouldn't extend up or out to reach the wheel. He sighed tiredly, ready to throw in the towel and quit. He wanted to call Sam and let him come get him. Find ice for his shoulder and heat for his aching hip. Sam was in Lemay, might as well make him useful since he hadn't stayed home where he belonged.

But, noooonooo couldn't do that…he didn't have his stupid cell phone. Another sigh and he shook off his melancholy mood. Find the motel, he could do that and coffee. Definitely coffee…..large cup-o-joe...

The ringing of a cell phone startled him so badly he swerved off the road, right side tires bumping down off the berm. Shit, he slowed up more and eased back onto the road, steering with his knee as he fumbled along the seat next to him for the phone.

"Hullo?"

"Dean? Where the hell are you?"

"Who's this?" Dean retorted, wondering whose phone he had. Oh, right, Garth. "Garth? This you? Where you at dude?"

"Dammit Dean…it's Sam. Why aren't you at the motel?"

"Workin' on it." he muttered. "Sam? Oh." silence, another horn blared, another jerk of the wheel and the car swerved sharply. He dropped the phone to grab the steering wheel with his hand, missing whatever Sam had been bellyaching about. "What'cha want Sammy? Make it quick, driving with my knee here….." he winced at the shriek in his ear.

"_PULL OVER_!" Sam shouted. "Pull OVER right NOW. Do you understand me? Pull off the road and stop the fucking car Dean."

"What? Almost to the motel Sammy…." he peered out the windshield then leaned his head against the door window. There should be buildings, a shopping center, and diner…..a place to get coffee, not trees...wasn't the motel in town?

"Dean, so help me GOD, pull the fucking car to the side of the road, shut her down, and get into the backseat. Dean, hey, listen to me….Do you HEAR me?'

"Whole state of Missouri hears you." Dean muttered. "Yeah…yeah….hey…"

"DEAN! I am not kidding, you jerk. IF you aren't in the BACKSEAT when I find you, I will hogtie you to Garth, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?!" he waited. "AM I CLEAR?!"

"Yeah…yeah…you're clear, crystal clear." he sighed. "And loud."

"I'm on my way Dean." Sam said. "I'm coming to get you…just please, stay put. Can you do that?"

"Okay."


	4. Chapter 4

Dean dropped the phone, not caring or knowing where it landed. He leaned forward and tilted his head to peer out the windshield. He didn't care how many threats Sam issued or the tone in which he delivered them; he needed to find a safe spot to pull off the road. The berm was unacceptable. He patted the dashboard, he'd find a place to park until Sir Sam arrived to retrieve him or he'd keep driving until he did. Oh, to the left….yeah, the dirt parking lot of that closed-for-the-night repair shop would suffice.

He hoped Sam would be quick about coming to get him; he frowned, Sam was coming to get him? What the hell sense did that make? Come and get him, what was he, three years old? He didn't know why Sam insisted on doing so or how he was going to succeed but Dean kinda, sorta, hadda admit…he was okay with that.

He briefly considered blowing Sam off and ignore his command but yeah…..no, not yet. He couldn't find the motel on his own and he wanted to lie down, preferably in a bed and if Sam could help him accomplish that he'd wait for him because he really didn't think he'd be able to find one on his own.

Course, after the ER, losing Dean and dealing with Garth, Dean doubted Sam was doing so good himself. He'd been upset when Dean had left him at home and taken off with Garth. Upset and disappointed that Dean was so eager to go hunting. Now? Now he was pissed. He'd been tired and weak before Dean had left…dizzy with little appetite, but lo and behold, here he was, all piss and vinegar with a head full of hot steam.

Dean put the car in park, pulled the keys from the ignition and slid from behind the wheel across the seat. His intent was to simply tumble over into the back seat but the chorus from his various limbs and joints and muscles convinced him that was a _bad_ idea. Once his head won the skirmish against his stomach, he climbed from the passenger seat, opened the back door and crawled in, door swinging shut behind him on its own. There was the love and comfort from his girl, tucking him in all safe and secure on her own.

Oh God, nausea? Truly? From pain? Shit, never a good thing!

He sat for a moment, searching for a bottle that contained water from amidst the motley collection of empty bottles, take-out containers, packages of cookies and cupcakes…..couple of Sam's books, some magazines….he choked at the stench from a balled-up wad of foil…..he really needed to clean out the car. Oh look, a shoe, a sneaker, neither with a mate, couple coats, shirts…..hey, a pillow and there…..what the…?

He gingerly poked at a mass of….huh…..didn't remember that but Sam'd had the car for a couple of days while Dean had spent the time with a willing….and ooooh, it was soft. He leaned forward to bury his face in the soft fleece and toppled sideways, shudda brought it to his face. It smelled nice, like….well it smelled good anyway. So, pillow, this fleece thingee…no need to sit up. Water forgotten, he tucked his feet on the seat against the opposite door and was snoring before he'd properly identified the fleece was a blanket.

***000***

Garth whooshed into the motel room, grabbed Dean's laptop and booted it up. He tapped his fingers impatiently, ordering the computer to load faster as he fidgeted, keeping an eye cast towards the door. He didn't expect Sam to come in after him but one never dared turn their back on him. The younger Winchester brother was at best, unpredictable, and at worst, volatile. Garth thought he knew the Winchesters but he'd had no idea Sam was violently protective when it came to his brother.

"Finally!" he quickly loaded Google Latitude then opened a second window to pull up a map of the area….God, let this be easy. Armed with the information that pin-pointed Dean's location, he raced from the room.

Sam was unexpectedly sleeping in the passenger seat, head resting against the windows.

"Sam?" Garth jumped into the car, put it in gear and pulled out. "Got him. Guessin' he listened to you 'cause he ain't moving."

"He hadn't better be." Sam murmured. "If he is….I won't feed him for a week." their last argument bounced around his head. He kept going over it…he hated being at odds with his brother.

"_Dean….I'm not kidding! Garth?! I mean….what the hell? Seriously, what the fuck?"_

"_What am I supposed to do? You don't want my help. You won't let me take care of you. You can only kick me in the teeth so many times before I give up Sam. I'm not going to sit around all day while you pout and get all pissy at me. I'm going to do what I do best…..hunt."_

"_But….with Garth? You aren't going hunting with Garth!"_

"_Would you rather I go alone?"_

"_I rather you didn't go at all!"_

"Uh…..hey, you ok Sam?"

Not really, Sam thought, pressing his cheek against the cold glass. He was tired. He was always tired. So tired, he never had any energy and lacked the desire to do much of anything. Frantic panic and terror left him short of breath and with such a pain in his chest he rubbed his hand over his heart as if doing so would relieve it.

It didn't.

"I looked the location up on a map." Garth set the laptop on Sam's lap when he got no reply to his question. They'd lose the internet connection once they left the motel parking lot but the picture of the map would remain. "He's headed out of town…..nowhere near the motel."

"Didn't expect him to be." Sam sighed, lifting his head. "Cause he's Dean and he's an ass and he's stupid and he doesn't respond well to some medications and when I find him…." he trailed off, staring out the window, emotions and feelings in turmoil.

And when I find him, I'm gonna throttle him until he requires a dentist; shake him until he needs the painkillers the doctor undoubtedly sent him home with, kick his ass 'til he can't sit down. He licked his lip, grinding his teeth as thoughts continued to race and tumble about in his head. I'm gonna pull him outta the Impala by his ear and smack him upside his head until his nose bleeds. I'm gonna shake him until his eyes roll and his tongue hangs outta his mouth. I'm …. he's hurt and he's in pain and he's dealing with it alone and that's my fault 'cause I never should have let him leave with you so I'm gonna hug him and hold tight and reassure myself he's alive and whole, and only slightly damaged…I'm gonna….

"….talisman…." Garth was saying.

"Huh? Yeah….yeah…we got time." Sam replied absently, checking street names off until they passed the last one and drove along a tree-lined two-way back road. Where the hell had Dean thought he was going? Camping? They were sooo going to have a talk and set some new rules. Sam couldn't keep doing this…..this waiting and not knowing and never guessing correctly…

"That it?" Garth slowed, signaled and eased the car across the oncoming lane and came to a stop behind the Impala.

Sam had his door open and was out of the car before Garth had come to a full and complete stop. He was scolding Sam about the dangers of leaping from moving vehicles but he was talking to an empty seat and a cold breeze; Sam hadn't remained to hear a word, leaving the door open. "….unsafe, dangerous and stupid." Garth finished. "Righto, guess you know all that." evening had fallen and Garth didn't see the silhouette of a person in the car. "Oh no."

Sam rounded the Impala's trunk and came up along the driver's side, flashlight in hand. His heart lurched, throat thickening when the beam of light revealed an empty front seat. No Dean. He gasped for breath, heart thudding as panic overwhelmed him.

"DEAN!" he shouted over the roof of the car. "DEAN!" he walked completely around, then ran around the car then lapped the car again. He threw himself flat to his belly and stuck his head under it. "DEAN!" he shone the flashlight under the car then got to his feet. "DEAN!" did the backseat just move? "DEAN?"

Garth was slowly climbing from his car, flashlight in one hand, shotgun in the other. He was trying to determine the best way to approach the Impala and Sam when Sam yanked the back door open and disappeared, head and shoulders within, ass sticking out. Garth jumped at the yelp, followed by thumps and bumps and crackling and grunts and groans from the car. He raised his shot-gun, ready to take aim and fire upon whatever hissing, spitting creature Sam pulled from the depths of the back seat.

"WAA-AAHH!" Dean attempted to keep hold of his soft, warm, sweet-smelling blanket, tried to keep himself from being dragged from the car, tried to free himself from the iron arms that crushed him until he couldn't breathe and fought to maintain his balance when he was released and his legs became rubber with no knees.

Garth relaxed when Dean became recognizable and it appeared Sam had the situation under control but remained by the car..

"OW!" Dean whined, swaying. Hands with a grip that would leave more bruises grabbed his biceps then immediately let go when he howled, hopping in agony until he fell against the car and began a slow descent to his ass. "Sam..don't." he hissed through clenched teeth. "Dude, stop. Mmm…..ouch…ow..ow,ow,ow…OW Sam….what part of OW don't you get?! Let go!"

Sam stopped his descent before his ass hit the dirt and hauled Dean to his feet, propping him up against the car and holding him there with one hand against his shoulder. "What the hell DEAN?!" Sam exploded. "Seriously man, what the hell?!"

"ME?! What'd I do?" bewildered, Dean looked around for whatever might have sent Sam over the edge this time. "Remove your hand…" Dean grimaced through the pain, teeth gritted. "Or…"

"Or what? Huh? What are you going to do Dean?" Sam demanded, squeezing harder than he intended with his hand.

"Pass...out." he whispered. "Let..go."

"What the fuck were you doing in the backseat?" Sam ignored his brother's demand, or maybe it was a plea. "Jesus Christ Dean, you're gonna be the end of me, you know that? What are you trying to do to me?"

"You told me….Ow Sam….stop!" tears of pain pricked his eyes. "Stop!"

"You gonna stop trying to sit down?" Sam snapped.

"I'm gonna pass out, you don't get your hand _off_ my shoulder." came the growled retort.

Sam's eyes traveled the length of his arm to where his hand pressed firmly against Dean's shoulder…his left shoulder.

"Oh God. Sorry, I'm sorry." he relaxed his grip but didn't release his hold. Previously punishing, the grip was now comforting. "You ok?"

"NO!" Dean snarled, right arm reaching to hold his shoulder, left arm one with his side. Pain made him ill, nausea made him reel and all at once, every bruise, scratch, scrape and itch attacked him simultaneously. "Lemme down."

"Dean?"

"Goin' down." he said thickly.

"What? No, no..no..no…don't you dare….Oh, okay, ok….I gotcha…..sit….." Sam grabbed his brother's shoulders, jumped at the strangled moan and moved his hands to Dean's elbows only to receive a choked groan. "Sorry…..sorry…oops…duck your head…..Dean, hey, duck. Frame isn't going to give." he settled for easing an unresisting Dean's descent by guiding him down with a gentle hold on his right shoulder and elbow. "Wanna lie down? Dean, hey….don't ignore me…." he eyed the cozy nest Dean had cocooned himself in.

Dean was muttering, protesting, whining….bitching…..asking why Sam wasn't wearing shoes.

"What?" he listened to Dean complain that he should have been left in the car to begin with, with a grin. "Yeah….sorry dude…you good?" he got Dean down onto his back without eliciting tears and blew his breath out in relief. "Pull your feet in…..right….okay, now stay put."

Sam backed out and closed the door. Garth stood by his car while Sam retrieved the laptop. He attempted several times to speak but couldn't think of any words to say. Sam didn't even look his way and got into the Impala, shutting the door in Garth's face.

"Dean…hey…..no, no, don't get up…just tell me where the keys are." Sam sat behind the wheel and searched for the keys. "Dean, I need the keys."

"I….uh….ign….." he tried to think. "Maybe."

"You know Dean, if they were in the ignition I would have seen them." Sam sniped tersely. "You….."

"Then…look…." Dean flared. "I…..don't…..just look….."

Sam sat and stared straight out the windshield while he counted to ten, hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly, his knuckles shone white in the dim light. He turned to yak at Dean over his shoulder but the sight of his brother, so pale and wan, forehead and lip heavy with sweat despite the cold air drove his snappy retort to the pit of his belly.

"Okay….right…" they had to be somewhere, Dean had driven the car to where they were, so….."Got 'em." he pulled out, leaving Garth staring after him.

"Okay, yeah….no, that's okay guys. I'll follow you back to the motel….say, he's ok, isn't he?" Garth shook his head, tossed his gun into the car and hopped in. "Hey! Wait for me."

Sam headed to his motel, gathered the few items he'd left in the room, checked out and returned to the Budget Best Inn. As Sam pulled into the motel parking lot, Dean emerged from his nest. After several failed attempts, he sat up but wasn't to the point where he could speak coherently. Sam couldn't decide if he were seething, plotting revenge or in too much pain to care about anything.

"Stay in the car." Sam ordered as Dean reached for the door handle. He put the car and park and let it idle. Garth pulled into a spot next to them.

"Don't wanna." Dean panted as he extended one foot out the door. His toes never touched the pavement, his exit blocked by a wall of brother Sam.

"We aren't staying." tired and disoriented, though not in the amount of pain Dean was, Sam was uncomfortable and sore and wanted to sleep the clock around, but….. "Stay, I'll be right back." he also wanted this town behind him.

"Dude!" Garth called after Sam who ignored him and entered the motel room. "Dean? You ok, man? Need a hand ? I gotta tell you, you never once warned me about his violent nature, you know?"

"Leave him alone Garth!" Sam yelled from the open door of the motel room.

"Yeah, but ok." Garth gave Dean a sympathetic grin. "You sure you wanna stay with him? He, uh, he's not in a very good mood."

"Goin' home." Dean rubbed his eyes.

"Back to Kansas? Dude, really, that's like an eight or nine-hour drive. You ain't up to it."

"You tell him that." Dean yawned. He patted his pocket. He wanted some pain meds. "Any water?"

"Garth!" Sam's annoyed voice floated from the motel room. "Get away from him."

"Good luck." Garth grinned at Dean, handing him a bottle of water. "You good…"

"What are you giving him?" Sam popped the trunk and added their duffels. "Dean, what are you taking?"

"Huh….dunno…something they gave me….." he fingered the package he'd taken from his pocket. "Samples, she said…'less you got…..my….'scription filled?"

Right, like there'd been time, at this time of night, in a strange town…. "I don't like you taking shit I haven't…"

"Bugger off Sammy." he used his teeth to tear open the package and swallowed the two pills before Sam could smack them from his hand. He smirked at the look his brother nailed him with and laid down. Nine hours, huh? No medication was going to hold him that long.

***000***

At first, Dean his discontent and unease to Sam's erratic driving that consisted of; speed up, slow down, speed up, swerve, hit the brake, speed up and repeat. He'd yet to _maintain_ speed, was overly fond of the _brake_ and didn't account for the water lying in undetected puddles along the road. The weather was crap, rain heavy with wind strong enough to buffet the car.

Dean felt like he was on a carnival ride and he wanted his misery to come to an end. "How much further?" he asked quietly, squirming on the back seat in an attempt to find a comfortable position.

"Dunno." Sam said absently. "Four, maybe five hours."

Dean didn't comment, rousing to peer out the back windshield.

"What?' Sam asked, casting him a glance, unwilling to completely remove his eyes from the road. "Dean?"

"Can we stop?" he asked reluctantly. He wasn't going to make it.

"Aah, sure…..you….will a tree do?" Sam asked. "I'll try to find an over pass so you won't get wet."

"Huh? No…I need….no."

Well, Sam thought, Dean'd been huffing and sighing and squirming for the last hour. Perhaps the pain meds weren't sitting well on an empty stomach. "You hungry?"

"God no."

"But you gotta stop?"

"What?" Dean asked crossly. "No…..I don't need…for the night Sam, can we stop for the night?"

Road, weather and steering were forgotten as Sam turned his complete attention to his brother.

"Eyes on the road!" Dean exclaimed. "EYES ON THE ROAD!"

Sam pulled off the road but instead of berating his brother, he pulled his cell from his pocket and began a search for the closest motel. Garth pulled up behind them but remained in his car.

"Can you hang on for a while longer?" Sam asked quietly. "Fourteen miles or so…..Dean…hey? I can't do much for you here in the car 'less you want to take some ibuprofen or…"

"I'm good…."

Fourteen miles turned into thirty-four and over an hour in the car; detour due to flooding. The motel had no vacancy and the next closest one was fifty miles ahead or thirty behind, weather permitting. Sam looked out the window to the Impala, Dean hadn't gotten out to come into the office with him.

"Is there a town?" Sam asked tiredly. He looked around the motel, and attached gas station mini-mart without much hope of receiving an affirmative answer.

"Sorry, not a tourist route, you know? Fishing….oh hey, maybe Crazy Caine has a fishing cabin out by the lake for rent, you want I should ring him up and ask?"

Sam was capable of murder with his bare hands, he'd done it before. He was capable of killing anyone who stood in the way of his brother's comfort and safety. "Yeah." Sam bit out. "You call up ole Crazy Cooter." and I won't put your head through that double-paned glass window and see what breaks first, your head or the window. "Thanks." he managed.

The cabin was ten miles up a mud-slicked lane into the hills of wherever the fuck they were. The Impala fishtailed and spun a tire a time or two through a puddle that was deeper than Sam probably should have attempted to drive through. Had he been in any other car, they never would have made it.

He sighed and eased the car to a stop. Good ole Goofy-goof-ball Garth had gamely followed them since leaving Lemay. He hadn't attempted to call Sam, Dean's cell given up as lost, nor had he tried to approach Sam at the motel to question what they were doing. He just followed along behind and he didn't possess a car whose loyalty Dean swore saved his life since before he'd been born.

Sam was tempted to leave him behind but the dumb quack would more than likely try to hike the remaining distance on foot. He eased the car into reverse and began to back-up until he came upon Garth's car in a ditch. There was no use to attempt to push or pull him out, nothing to do except accept Garth's presence in the front seat next to him and drive on. Garth had the wise sense not to say a word, not even make a sound and finally at last…. the cabin.

Sam pulled as close to the door as he could get and shut the car down. "Dean, you good?"

"Heh." he climbed from the car, fleece trailing behind him and waited at the door. Sam locked up the car, retrieved the laptop and used the key from the motel clerk to enter the cabin, Dean on his heels.

It was a fishing shack, not a vacation cabin for a family. One large room contained a fireplace, sofa, coffee table, two arm chairs, sink, couple cupboards and a table with four chairs as the living area; a double bed in the corner and a door that led to a small room with a set of bunk beds. Another door led to a bathroom. Bare minimum but at least they were sheltered against the weather in warmth and comfort.

"What'r'you doin' here?" Dean sat down on the sofa, attempted to toe his well-tied boots off, gave up with a grunt and went down on his right side, pulling the fleece across his shoulder. Nurse sure could lace a boot tight. "Here…in town….and not home." he wiggled. "Where….I left you."

"Sure." Sam agreed. The bed was calling his name. "Later, ok?"

"Yum-hum." a knock on the door pulled his attention back from the brink of oblivion. Before he could make a move for a weapon, Sam laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Guys, guys, hey it's me. Let me in." knock, knock, knock. "Sam? Dean?" knock, knock, knock. "Hey, it's Garth…remember me? Say, it's cold out here, how about letting me in? We gottta talk, you know…Dean….that spirit.."

Sam rolled his eyes and gave Dean a look, 'he's your problem'.

Dean returned a look that said, 'what do you want me to do about it'?

To which, Sam non-verbally replied, 'it's your fault he's here'.

And Dean answered, 'deal with it'.

The door opened, his bag dropped at his feet and the door closed in his face. "Uh, guys? Hey, what's this about? Guys? Guys? Oh, okay then, sure, we'll talk in the morning. I'll just, uh…sleep in your car." Garth shook his head, deciding it wise not to push Sam any further.

The door opened a second time and Sam stood aside to let him in, Dean's shrieked protest over leaving someone alone in his car more than Sam could deal with. "Find a bunk and don't let me see your face again." he pointed to the door across the room. "And I don't wanna hear from you either."


	5. Chapter 5

Dean stretched, waking slowly, in pain and with great reluctance. He knew the feeling, he'd taken pain-killers and they'd worn off, leaving him lethargic, dry-mouthed and craving more. He rolled one way, then the other but the ability to sit up eluded him. He had two choices, remain on his back or turn to his right side. Neither satisfied him.

Maybe if he inched his way to the edge of the bed, he could swing his feet to the floor, kick out and use the momentum to sit up. He didn't know where he was going once he gained his feet but he hated being vulnerable and defenseless and denied what he wanted and what he wanted was to be on his feet.

Hadn't he been on a sofa? When had he moved to a bed? The room was dark, but he could hear someone breathing and though he sensed another person in the room, he didn't fear their presence. Good old goofy Garth had found his way baaa…..no, not Garth…..who…oh, right…. Sam. Uh-oh.

Well…..he doubted Sam would be physically up to kicking his ass right away. He hadn't been feeling good when Dean had left him at home nearly a week ago. He'd driven to Lemay, for whatever reason, and that had to have taken a lot out of him. Add to that, the collapse at the ER, the search for Dean, spending time in Garth's company and Dean was pretty sure his carcass was safe from a beating for a good while.

Fairly sure.

Sam didn't raise a hand to him often but when he did, it was a fist and the fist-fight that ensued left them both bloody and bruised with no clear victor. Usually, they collapsed from exhaustion, called a truce and went out for a beer. No beer in his immediate future though. Not with Sam in charge and in charge he would be.

"Can you manage a bath?"

Dean blinked; the voice came softly from somewhere in the dark. How the hell had Sam known he was awake when Dean, who was already awake, hadn't noticed Sam was awake? How long had he slept and had Sam slept at all? Ow, trying to think that out made his head hurt.

"Hot water will help." Sam continued. "With the aching and the stiffness….bath is….what?" he paused at the derisive snort from across the room. "Dean, don't be an ass. You….."

"Sam, I can't get out of bed." Dean scoffed. "I can't even sit up…ain't no way I'm gonna get in or out of a bathtub." he grimaced, trying again to get up. A bath, right. Now a shower? That might be manageable.

Sam ignored the breathless gaps between words. "Yeah, well, you know what? Next time you think it's a great idea to go hunting with _Garth_…." the name was spoken with such disdain that Dean bit back a weak smirk, "…..remember how you feel."

"Way to care there Sammy." Dean remarked dryly, voice stronger.

Sam sat in one of the arm chairs, enjoying the warmth of a fire, facing Dean but the light from the fire didn't extend to the bed, leaving the corner cast in shadows. After a series of grunts and groans, an ow and ouch or two and several curses, Sam lit a lantern. The cabin lacked electricity, the toilet flushed by stepping on a pedal that opened a valve and pouring water into the bowl, and a hand well pump was mounted next to the sink.

"What the hell are you doing?" Sam yawned, stretching. He felt remarkably better and he knew, though he would never admit it aloud, that it was because he had Dean with him.

"Trying to get up."

Sam rubbed the remnants of sleep from his eyes by burrowing his face into his shoulder, then got up to go stand next to the bed. He stood, hands on hips and simply surveyed the scene in front of him.

Dean had wiggled sideways on the bed, feet off the bed but not touching the floor. He rolled, he twisted, he kicked his feet, and he flung his right arm out, high and wide but other than his head, was unable to rise from the mattress.

"Huh." Sam yawned again. He set the lantern on a table near the bed and with considerable more gentleness than when he'd dragged him from the car, grabbed his brother's right arm and helped him sit up. "How bad?" he asked quietly. "I mean, concrete stairs? Really Dean?"

"I'm good." Dean lied smoothly. Knowing he wasn't believed didn't stop his glib tongue from spitting out the lie. "Just a bruise."

"Yuh-huh." Sam snorted over the blatant attempt to blow him off. "Can you get outta your coat?"

"I got it on, I can get it off." Dean huffed, paling at the thought. It'd been hard enough getting dressed with the help of a gentle nurse and dosed on pain killers.

"Sure." Sam squatted down and patted his knee. "Put your foot up. I….can't lower my head that far."

Dean said nothing and raised his foot to rest on Sam's knee so his brother could untie his boots, first one, and then the other. "What's wrong with your head?"

"I'm good." Sam picked at a knot. "Just…I, aah…..nose bleeds if I put my head down is all."

"That's all?" stress more than likely.

"What do you want from me Dean?"

"Okay, first, what the fuck are you doing here?"

"Taking care of….." he paused at the look to cross his brother's face. "Um, helping with…..you left with Garth, Dean!" he threw his hands up. "I mean, come on! Look at you! You've been beaten six ways to Sunday and he left you!"

"In Lemay, Sam. Why are you here?" free from his boot, he wiggled his toes on his right foot then attempted to do the same with his left toes but no cheery waggle greeted him. "Huh." he blinked at the unwanted feeling the attempt had caused. "Ow."

"Oh." Sam shrugged. "There was an alumni banquet…..Stanford in St. Louis…..ad we left Lemay."

"And you just had to attend." Dean snorted. Ugly warmth burst forth from his belly and turned sour in his throat. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, attempting to contain the urge to vomit. "Didn't you?"

"Yeah, well…" he stood up and walked across the room to the sink. The words 'you were here' were thought but would never be spoken aloud. "I neither like nor trust Garth." he stepped into the bathroom. "Never should have let you go with him."

"He's harmless."

"He's useless." Sam corrected, filling a cup from the sink. "Flight of concrete stairs, Dean." he rooted around in a duffel sitting on the floor near the sofa. "Any idea what they gave you at the ER?"

"Doesn't matter, it's worn off."

"Was a shot though, right?"

"Aah, yeah." he rubbed his eyes with the heel of his right hand. "Gave me a prescription…or two maybe….some samples….grabbed whatever was within reach….just wanna sleep."

Sam handed him the cup of water and sat down on the bed, side-by-side with Dean. That Dean didn't shrug away or shove at him was a giant waving flag broadcasting how he felt. "Before I give you anything else, tell me what happened. Garth was babbling about some talisman that you touched or touched you. Hell I dunno, but make it make sense."

"Aah…now?" he sipped the water, willing his stomach to accept the offering. "Can't we do this…." he recalled it'd been dark out. "I dunno, in the morning, maybe?"

"No." Sam said firmly. "You can fill me in while you soak in the tub."

"I'm not…." he winced. "…..taking a bath!"

"Yeah, you are." Sam shook a less-than-half-full, smushed box of Epsom salts. "I'll add these and you….."

"Sam….." Dean sighed, not up to either an argument or a bath. "Let it go, please?"

"Flight of concrete stairs Dean." he reminded him like Dean could have forgotten.

"Wow, you sure are hung up on that, aren't you?" Dean moved to set the cup next to the lantern but his body protested the movement and Sam removed it from his grip before he could either knock the lantern over or spill the water. "Ow." he winced, doubling forward, left arm cradled against his body.

"Dean….come on….you know you'll feel better after a hot bath. You always do." Sam coaxed.

"But I don't….." he gave up, it was useless to protest.

"…..and you're not soaking in your clothes, so take 'em off." Sam's muffled voiced floated out of the bathroom. "Everything…."

Dean blinked, when had Sam returned to the bathroom and Christ, would he stop moving around? One room cabin and Dean couldn't keep track of him….and what did he want now? Dean looked at his feet, white socks mocked him, knowing his inability to remove them would require allowing Sam to do it for him. Aaw, shit

"….ice for your shoulder if we had any…..think we still have a heating pad…" Sam was rattling on, Dean half listening. "…..always did like heat…..course, not much good without electric…..can heat towels I guess….there's some here in the cupboard….dunno…." water splashed. "….most people take to ice, but not you….." he came out of the bathroom, wiping his hands on a towel. His calm demeanor fled upon seeing Dean sitting where and exactly how he'd left him. "Damn you Dean, I'm not kidding…you're getting in that tub if I have to carry you in and drop you."

"Sam…"

"Christ, why do you always have to give me a hard time? I mean, come on! Just once, can't you cooperate? All I asked you to do was get undressed…..but no. You sit there all defiant just to piss me off! Why can't you …."

"Because I can't!" Dean yelled. "Alright? You happy? I can't even lift my foot to take my damn sock off Sam!" he lowered his head with a wince. "You want me outta my clothes, you're gonna hafta help me."

Sam tossed the towel over one shoulder. "Well, that's just great." his hands went to his hips and he frowned down at his brother, resembling a disapproving wife scolding her, just-came-in-drunk-yet-again-husband. "Wow…Dean, wow...just wow, yeah, way to go. Garth nearly put you in traction resetting your shoulder…..great partner you got there…."

"Keep bitching." Dean threatened. "And I'll go find him and relieve you of your burden that is me."

"Like hell." Sam seethed. Didn't Dean know Garth was banished in the other room?

"Just…help me, will ya?"

Sam folded like a cheap suit. His expression went all soft and his eyes were moist as he knelt on the floor in front of his brother and rested a hand on his good shoulder.

"Socks first." Sam said quietly. "Then your jacket, okay? You…" he pawed at Dean's open coat and pushed one side back from his belly. "No t-shirt?"

"Nurse tried." he attempted to wiggle his left toes again, failed. "Couldn't lift my arm over my head."

"Okay, makes it easier now, then…."

Dean hadn't taken a good look at himself since his tumble but he knew he was bruised and swollen and discolored from head to toe. He prayed it wasn't as bad as it felt because if it were, Sam would have an epic freak-out.

"Lift your foot." Sam ordered. "Don't make me bend over that far….Dean, hey!" he let Sam hold his right foot by the ankle and tug the sock off. Easy-peasy, no swelling, no discoloration, not even a red mark. Sam picked up his left foot and despite his resolve not to react, he stiffened. Sam matched his reaction, pausing and casting a suspicious glance up.

Dean bit his lip and gave a slight nod. So his toes didn't want to wiggle, so what? Not like it was a big deal. Right? His first clue something wasn't right, was Sam's curse in a foreign language Dean didn't recognize yet knew was a curse. Uh-oh.

"You got something to say about this Dean?" Sam still held his foot and he pushed Dean's leg up so he could see his own foot, faltering at the hiss of pain and resistance of movement when his knee refused to flex.

"Oh." Dean responded stupidly. "Aah." words failed him. "Huh." his toes, oh his poor swollen toes. Neither red nor purple, nor black or blue nor green or yellow, just a myriad of colors. Now free of the tight lacing of his boot, the top of his foot was swollen, the puffy skin reaching for the heights of his shin. Well, that couldn't be good.

Sam gently rested Dean's foot on the floor and stood up. "Stand up."

Dean didn't dare argue with that tone. He knew if he did, he'd be bodily pinned to the bed and his clothes removed by knife. And he wasn't in any condition to offer a lick of resistance. He pushed up from the mattress with his right hand. With his left still molded to his side, he was off-balance and accepted Sam's steadying hand.

"Jeans." Sam said softly, waiting for the cocky quip and suggestive waggle of eyebrow but neither was forthcoming. He crossed his arms and waited, watching as Dean fumbled with the button, then the zipper on his jeans, trying not to let his brother's lack of teasing and coordination upset him. "Okay, ok…..let's get your coat off then." he caved in after a minute of Dean fumbling about, trying and failing to unfasten his jeans.

The coat and button down shirt were easy to get off. They slid from Dean's right arm without issue and Sam was able to pull them across his back and down his left arm. Sam said nothing about the bruising, the forming bruises and the bruises yet to come. Nor did he comment on the swelling or the angry red road rash and scrapes on his left shoulder, elbow, forearm and back. He wanted to, oh lord, did he want to but he remained silent, eyes absorbing every injury, every bruise, mark, cut and scrape he saw. And he counted and for every one he counted, Garth was going to receive a smack.

Dean reached again for his fly, Sam waited, allowing him another chance but when he succeeded with the zipper and failed with the button, Sam reached to do it for him.

"Can you get them off?" Sam asked quietly. "Dean…I…how can you…..? That has to hurt." bruises and swelling from his arm pit to his waist and when he stepped out of his jeans, from his hip to his pelvis and that was what Sam could see. He was sure the side of Dean's left thigh was bruised and swollen from waist to knee as well. "Dammit Dean….forget the bath…..we're going back to the ER." he forgot about the weather, couldn't believe the hospital had let Dean walk out. "We'll find one near here and….."

"I'm ok Sam."

"You can't get up, you can't bend over, you can't move….." there was no way he was even near the realm of 'ok'.

"I've seen a doctor, nothing broken, nothing pulled or torn or strained or separated…..I've got pain meds…..I just might need a hand for the next day or two, so if you could….I dunno, stick around?"

"A hand? _A hand?!_" Sam squawked, arms flapping in agitation. "Stick around? You think I'm gonna let you out of my sight?! Christ Dean, you're..you…..you're vulnerable and…and…..helpless!"

"Oh now, come on! That's carrying things just a bit too far, don't you think?" he shuffled off to the bathroom, left arm against his side, right hand holding to the bed, the table, the wall, the door frame. "Gimme….just gimme a minute before you come barging in, alright?"

"Fine." he busied himself digging through another duffel that contained odds and ends and various assortments of first aid supplies. "You good?" his phone was fully charged and determined to find out what Dean had taken earlier, he searched for the wrapper Dean had discarded after taking the pain meds in the car.

"Yeah." Dean stared at the tub; the cast iron-stood-on-feet-tub. There was no shower head or spigot yet it was full of water so hot he could see steam wafting up. Sam had to have heated the water over the fireplace and carried the buckets into the bathroom where he'd dumped them into the tub. Judging by the size of the two buckets sitting on the floor, it would have taken him several trips and hours to heat the water he'd pumped by hand from the sink.

JESUS! Sam really wanted him to take a bath.

Sam neared the door but didn't make an appearance. "Dean? You good? Can you get in?"

Shedding the last of his clothes, he tested the water with his hand; hot but not so hot it would burn. "Yeah…..just….I..." he teetered. No way was he stepping into that tub. Nuh-huh, not happening. So, he swallowed his pride and sat down on the edge of the tub and swung one leg at a time over the side and eased in as carefully as he could.

Sam's shaggy head popped around the door frame at the loud plop and resounding splash of water. "You ok? You fall?"

"I'm….in." he sank into the depths of the water. "Might need help getting out."

"Not a problem, macho man." Sam retreated to the table and took a seat. It was closer to the bathroom then the sofa but he missed the warmth of the fireplace. "How you feeling?"

"How….how you gonna get all this water out?" Dean ignored the question.

"There's a drain, probably empties into a cesspool under the cabin."

"How long we staying?"

"Until you can ride in the car." Sam replied. Translation: 'I wanted to go back to the bunker but your pansy ass couldn't handle riding in the car so don't push me'.

"Where are we?"

"Dunno." Sam replied. "Should be a day or two….Dean…..these samples you took…..did you take them from the nurse or did you steal them?"

"Aah, some she gave me….the white packets, I think. I helped myself to the other ones." while the warmth from the hot water felt good, it wasn't easing any aches or pain or discomfort.

"Where are they?"

"Coat pocket."

White packet was Vicodin….oh yeah, they'd help him. The blue packets, of which there were nearly two dozen, and the ones Dean had taken earlier were….what the hell was Ketorolac? His thumb rapidly went to work.

***000***

While Sam was researching and reading up on medications, Garth was in the other room, laptop booted up to his mobile hotspot and completing his research on the talisman. He'd narrowed it down to two and would need Dean to identify the one which the spirit had wielded at him.

Sam was not going to take this well. Not at all. Nope.

Well, nothing to do but venture forth and face…no wait, say a prayer first. Garth gave it some thought, then got down on his knees, placed his elbows on the mattress and clasped his palms together. If he was going to pray, he was going to do it properly.

"Hey Sam." Garth stood out of reach. "Dean around…oh…..you….aah…here." Garth retreated into his room and returned with a soft cloth. "You're…um….." he motioned to his own nose and tapped his lip. "Bleeding…a bit there."

Sam knuckled his nose. Great, another nose bleed. He tilted his head forward and pinched his nose, blindly accepting the cloth from Garth.

"You get nose bleeds a lot?" Garth set the laptop on the table and went over to the sink, took a moment to figure out how to operate the pump then soaked a towel in cold water. "Here….no ice, but….."

"Thanks." Sam took it with a hand that shook slightly. "I'm good." he needed to stave off the impending headache until Dean was out of the tub and tucked in all comfy/cozy on the sofa.

"So, often huh?" Garth commented. "Low iron? Too much aspirin?"

"Life with Dean." Sam corrected, voice muffled from the towel.

"He punch you one too many times?" Garth joked but it fell flat when Sam didn't respond to the teasing.

"The thought of losing him….." Sam coughed. "…is killing me…."

Garth didn't know how to respond to that so he said nothing, and with a pat on Sam's knee, got up and moved away to give him privacy while he collected himself. With the life a hunter led, there were no guarantees a loved one would be there the next time you opened your eyes.

"So, Sam…you got a moment?"

"Not now Garth."

"Sorry…..I won't take long. Just let me fill you in on the hunt we were on. The spirit had a talisman…."

"Again with the necklace?" Sam wiped his face with the wet towel. "This better be good Garth." he pulled a bottle of migraine aspirin from the duffel. Caffeine truly was great for the headaches he'd been getting. "And make it fast."

"Yeah…see….." Garth talked so rapidly to fill him quickly that Sam had a hard time following; something about a spirit with a talisman somehow touching Dean. Symptoms and cure needed were the only words Sam had to hear to forget about his headache and give Garth's ramblings serious attention.

"This? This is it?" Sam swallowed the aspirin and turned the laptop around. "These? Seriously? Dude, come on, these are wards against evil." ironic that a spirit on a killing spree would protect itself against anything it felt was evil. "These are…..more of a nuisance than dangerous." he scanned the articles accompanying the photos. "Well, depending how it was used. Do you know which one?"

"No but Dean said he could recognize it. I've narrowed it done to those two." Garth pointed to one. "I think it was that one."

Sam started clicking and clacking on the keyboard. He moved through various websites so quickly, Garth lost count of how many he accessed. "So, no curse, no spell, not a hex…not voodoo…just charmed with magical powers. Great." he clicked on the second page. "Not likely to cause harm." he read further. "Okay Garth, it's not going to hurt him."

"Good, good….wow. Whew!" Garth rubbed his hands together gleefully, completely missing 'the glare of doom'. "Dean wasn't kidding when he said you were good at research. Man, you excel at it. The way you moved through those sites. Awesome, you're awesome." he held his hand up. "High-five!" he waited, his fingers waggled. "Dude, you're leaving me hanging here."

"It's going to kill him." Sam slapped the lid closed on the computer. "IF I get him through this and I live to see it done, I will stick you so full of needles not even the Chinese will call it acupuncture."

"Aah…." Garth backed away uncertainly. "Ha, ha?" he tested Sam's seriousness. Sam's expression turned black and he got up from his chair. "Um…..Sam…now big guy…we gotta work together here."

"Get out of my sight."

"Now Sam, come on…. I can help, let me help." Garth paced backwards as Sam stalked him. "See, I..you…we..together, we….whoa there, you're supposed to be Gentle Ben bear, not Grizzly bear….and…." with a squawk, Garth fled to his room and firmly closed the door.

Sam paced around the small cabin, mind whirling so fast his head threatened to split open and evict it. He finally calmed down enough he could think reasonably and picked up the laptop and entered the bathroom. Good thing the hotspot had a strong signal.

"Hey." he ignored Dean's growl of protest and threat of future retribution and took a seat on the toilet, laptop balanced on his knees. "So, you tangled with a spirit who had in its possession, a magical talisman?"

"Mmmm…..I hear Garth?"

"Simple salt and burn Sammy." he mimicked mockingly. "One and done. Easy-peasy. Done it a million times. Can do it with my eyes closed."

"You…..didn't hurt him, did you?" Dean asked wearily, ignoring the taunts.

"I have yet to deal him pain."

"What'd he do?"

"Do you recognize either of these photos?"

"Why?" water sloshed as he moved in the tub. "Amulets? Oh…..talisman….shit, he still going on about that?"

"Apparently, he has a damn good reason to." Sam snapped. "Do you see the one your friendly neighborhood ghost had?"

"Yeah, lower left corner."

The one Garth had pointed out and the one Sam had thoroughly researched. He closed the laptop and stood up. "You ready to get out?"

"No." he groaned. "But…..yeah…water's cold….."

"Pull the drain and dry off in the tub." Sam ordered. "I'll bring you some clothes. Once you're dressed, I'll help you out."

"Just underwear….no shirt."

Sam nodded and left the room. He took a seat on the chair at the table and supported his head in his hands, legs too shaky to transport him any further.

Twenty-four hours and symptoms from the talisman charm began to present.

Bruising – check, stiff and sore muscles – check, swollen joints – check, body aches and pains – check, a fever – he'd have to decide the best way to approach Dean and find out if he were running a fever.

How would anyone who'd been tossed down a flight of steps know the difference between injury from accident and symptoms of a magical charm?

They wouldn't.

Most people didn't have Dean's uncanny ability to avoid serious injury and heal quickly. Most people wouldn't know about magical charms. Some would succumb to broken bones or internal injury; most probably died as a result of the charmed talisman never knowing medical care wasn't going to help them.

As Dean would – if not for Garth.

Dean would have gone on the hunt with or without Garth. Sam couldn't blame that on Garth or hold against him Dean's inability to sit idle. Garth had…well, he'd had Dean's back…in a roundabout way. He'd observed the spirit with the talisman and hadn't given up on his quest to see the hunt to the end. And Sam, tucked-up safe at home, never would have known about….Dean would have…..no doctor could have…..and oh fuck-it.

Maybe Sam wouldn't kill him.

"Dean?" well, least there was a cure. Sam got up and tossed some clothes through the door. "You ready?" he peeked around the door several minutes later. "Dammit Dean….I told you…."

"I heard you."

"Then why the hell are you still in the tub?" Sam fumed. "Really? I mean, really Dean? DO I ASK that much of you? I'm beat….my head is killing me and I want to go to bed."

"I ain't stopping you."

"Why didn't you get out of the tub like I asked you to?"

"You didn't ask….." Dean protested with a pout. "You ordered me…..and I didn't, 'cause I can't. Tried, but tub's slip..per..ry and I can't push up. There's nothing…" the water had drained from the tub and a towel, launched from the doorway landed in his lap. "Oh….ok."

Awkwardly clutching the towel around his waist, he allowed Sam to help him rise to his feet and step out of the tub. It was either accept help or sleep in the tub because there was no way he was making it out on his own. "Jesus."

"You good?" Sam asked, picking the clothes up and setting them on the sink. "You need water? Brush your teeth or…no? Okay….get dressed….aah….you need help?"

"Get out."

"Yell if you….ok, ok, I'm going…don't blow up at me. When you come out, sofa's yours."

It took him over fifteen minutes and he had to take a seat on the toilet but he finally got the boxer briefs on and then he couldn't get up. So much for Sam's cure-all wonder for sore muscles and stiff joints. Ha!

"Sam?" he finally gave in and called for help.


	6. Chapter 6

Sam stood at the sink, hand grip tight to steady his balance, staring out the small window into the darkness beyond. He heard Dean call for him but didn't respond; hauling Dean out of the tub had made his head spin, the dizziness had yet to subside and he'd yet to gain control of his shaking arms and twitching back.

"You…..aah….want me to get him?" Garth poked his head out the door but his body was behind what safety it offered. "I can….you know, see what he wants…?"

Sam waved him on, groping for the chair and lowering himself into it before he hit the floor. He crossed his arms on the table and carefully lowered his head, praying his nose wouldn't decide to bleed out again. He needed a moment to regain his equilibrium and convince his quaking limbs to obey the command to cease and desist their uncontrollable trembling.

The Problem: Dean, cursed by a charmed talisman; Sam, weak and exhausted from an illness not of earthly origins.

The Dilemma: Neither could be cured or healed or helped by a human doctor or modern medicine.

The Issues: Obtaining the cure for Dean and ensuring there was adequate time to heal him: Sam weak and unsteady and at the end of his physical limits yet needing to push on to save his brother.

The Solution: Garth

Resisting the urge to thunk his head repeatedly, Sam rolled his forehead on the table top, Okay, pull it together Sam, this is one time you can't expect Dean to make everything all better….it's your turn to take care of him – whether he likes it or not. With a sigh, Sam pushed up from the table and pulled the laptop around. The cure….hell, they just had to be holed-up in a cabin that lacked electricity in the middle of nowhere during a frick-fracking monsoon somewhere in Kansas or, for all he knew, Missouri.

His eyes strayed to the bottle of aspirin. How along ago had it been that he'd taken any? Dare he take more? Probably not a good idea…he didn't really want any more nose bleeds. Sleep would no doubt benefit him but….no, Dean came first and that meant finding the strength and means to make the cure. He swallowed three aspirin, cast an eye across the room to make sure Garth wasn't about to dump Dean in a heap on the floor and turned his attention to the computer.

"Hey." Dean heaved a heavy sigh when Garth presented himself in the doorway, all happy smiles and thumbs up.

"Sam's….aaah, taking a breather….he's wiped out man." Garth explained. "What you doing? Oh, trying to get up, huh?"

Dean wanted to care, he did…and he did care…it was just…..right then…..he was in too much misery to give Sam any sympathy. 'Yeah, yeah…whatever…." he extended his right hand. "Help me up."

"Okay….upsee-daisee…..here we go. One, two…..and we're up!" Garth crowed in delight. "Bed?" Dean was unsteady and Garth stumbled under his weight but kept his feet. "Wow, so okay...you..you're not gonna walk on your own, huh? No problem, I'm right here."

"Sofa." Dean corrected tiredly.

"Sure. Guess Sam couldn't find you a shirt." Garth huffed and puffed and panted. "What, none clean? I doubt mine would fit but…."

"Can't get one on." once on his feet, Dean was able to hobble, hop, hobble on his own. It was getting up and down that required help, stomach and leg muscles refusing to clench.

"Oh….well, what about…..?"

"I had a…..blanket….." he was shivering from exertion or maybe it was from being cold, or both….hell he didn't know nor care. "You…you're here? Sammy let you in?"

"Aaah…..yeah. You said a blanket…? Oh, yep, right there." Garth removed it from the bed and carried it over to the sofa where Dean snatched it from his hands. "Okay, ok, chill out."

Dean stepped around the coffee table and tried to sit down but his hip and buttock protested and he stumbled forward with a groan. He reached out to stop his forward fall and remained humped over with both palms planted on the coffee table, breath coming in pants. Garth stared at him stupidly, no idea what to do or what the problem was.

"Hey." Sam was beside him. "Get your weight off your left shoulder. Bend your right knee and left gravity take you down…..you won't fall, I'm right here….I've got you."

With Sam by his side, Dean collapsed and let him ease his descent to the sofa. He ended up going face-first into the pillow against the arm but he was down. He maneuvered ever-so-gingerly until he was laying on his right side, Garth prancing about behind the sofa, making sure he was covered with the blankets until only his ear was visible.

"You good?" Sam asked, plopping his ass on the coffee table. "I'll go to town first thing in the morning….." wherever the fuck it was. "….and get your prescription filled." Sam said tiredly. "Until then, you're just going to have to make do with what we have and that's ibuprofen." he remembered the white packets. "Or Vicodin."

"Fuck you Sam." Dean mumbled from the sofa, too ill with pain to even flip him off. "The violin…..that what I took?" he nuzzled his cheek against the pillow. "Oh God, lemme die now…." he moaned pitifully.

"Don't say that." Sam reprimanded sharply. "Christ Dean….."

"Gimme more…from…..the car."

"No."

"Why not? There's enough…I took….a lot."

"It's Toradol Dean! It's not shit you wanna fuck with and I don't know enough about it. I can't even figure out why the hospital had sample packets!"

"Huh? Well, so what? They work….so…gimme."

"No."

"Sam…come on…you want me to beg?"

"Won't matter. The side effects scare the shit outta me."

"What? Dry mouth? Blurred vision? Nausea?" Dean scoffed. "Been there…."

"Ulcers, gastrointestinal bleeding, perforation of the stomach or intestines, which can be fatal."

"Meh, I'll be ok."

"Renal failure, cardiovascular thrombotic events, myocardial infarction, and stroke. _All_ of which can be fatal Dean." Sam continued to read from the list on the screen of his phone. "These events and/or symptoms can occur at any time during use and without warning."

"Saaa-ammm…" Dean groaned. "Gimme."

"You know Dean….if you weren't in so much pain you couldn't get up on your own, I'd put you flat on your back in bed for a month from the ass-kicking I'd give you!" Sam fumed. "Toradol is given following IV dosing of Ketorolac…which you didn't have. It's not recommended for long-term use. I don't know the strength of the pills…."

"No long term…..just 'til you get the 'scription filled."

"Yeah, and that's for Dilaudid." Sam said flatly. "I'm not happy about that either."

"Went down a flight of steps Sammy."

"Keep it up and I'll smother you with the pillow." Sam threatened. "And it was a flight of _stairs_, you ass." he set his phone on the table beside his hip and rubbed his red, swollen eyes. "You need to eat…can't take it on an empty stomach. They won't even give it orally to patients in the hospital unless they are eating and drinking on their own. That's some serious shit."

"Sam….."

"Dean, please. Give it and me a rest." Sam sighed. "You never should have taken it in the first place." he shot Garth yet another glare of death. "I'm wiped out. Just go to sleep."

Dean buried his face in his fleece. "Gimme the violin then."

"No." but Sam was beginning to weaken. "You don't always respond well to strong meds, Dean. Garth never should have given you anything until I'd had time to research it and see if it contained any opiates."

"Don't need you anyway." he muttered. "Do just fine on my own."

"Oh yeah? Say, how soft and comfy is that sofa? Why don't you get up and go lie down in bed? Oh, right…yeah, you _can't,_ 'cause you can't get up on your own." Sam gushed sarcastically. "Don't need me? How was getting out of the tub? How'd that work out for you?"

"Have Garth." Dean muttered, ignoring Sam's mini-rant. "Sam…..come on…have a heart." he begged, extending his arm, palm held up. "Please?"

"Here's a package of crackers…eat them and you can have the Vicodin."

"Not hungry."

"Not negotiable."

"They're stale. Any donuts?"

"Sure Dean, yeah sure. Jelly or glazed?"

"Don't be a prick."

"Crackers and Vicodin or ibuprofen."

Dean accepted the package of peanut butter and cheese crackers with a lip curled in disgust. "Three?"

"Six."

"But I don't….want…" Dean ducked at the look directed his way. Man, Sammy sure could say complete sentences with some of the faces he made. "Okay, ok…have it your way, burger king."

Sam got up to stoke the fire and add another log. "We have a problem." he walked over to the sink for a cup of water. "Garth was right about the talisman." he sat down on the table. "That's two." he said to Dean. "Four to go." how long until morning anyway? "You…aah, feel up to riding…" he hadn't thought it possible but Dean went paler and Garth hung over the back of the sofa with a wet cloth to blot the sweat from Dean's forehead and cheeks "So, no, then?"

Dean turned his face away from Garth, growling a threat of where the cloth would be shoved if he didn't stop.

"It's just…..I'd feel better if we were back at the bunker, you know?" Sam counted the consumption of a third cracker. Truthfully, it wasn't a good idea to move Dean. Course, he could try to get up on his own and fall and hurt himself just as easily but….

"Sam….let me be." he whipped his head around, teething snapping in an attempt to bite. Garth jumped away, leaping back, and counting his fingers to make sure there were still ten. "I'm not getting in the car with your erratic driving. You ain't fit to be behind the wheel."

Sam got up and brought back one of the pails he'd used to lug water and set it on the floor next to the couch. "Puke in this. Don't go trying to get up on your own." he told Dean. "Garth, enough. God, do you ever know when to stop? What's his problem?" he complained to Dean.

"Scared shitless of you." Dean retorted. "And you look like shit."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good." Sam assured him hastily. "Just need some sleep….head hurts a bit….." he let Dean get away with eating only four crackers and gave him the Vicodin. "You good?"

"No." he wanted ice and a heating pad and strong meds and a bottle of whiskey. "Feel like I got kicked down a flight of steps." he joked. "Seriously, if I'd felt like this in the hospital, I mighta stayed."

"Stairs." Sam corrected absently. "Concrete stairs and the talisman was cursed with magical charms." ok, so Dean was speaking in complete sentences, the words came slowly, with a bit of a slur but he was lucid. And he paid no attention to the fact he was cursed; he simply didn't care.

"Whatever." he squirmed. "Ow doesn't cover it."

Sam bit his lip, so no help would be coming from Dean. He sat once again on the table, facing his brother, who while lying limply was tense. "I can break it….the charm….it's….it can be….the cure is simple." he thumbed his eyebrows, vision grey and ears ringing. "It's…just….I need you to behave Dean."

"Wha'm'I gonna do?"

"Be you." Sam snapped shortly. "Give me a hard time." he continued bluntly. "But Dean, I'm flat-out telling you, I'm not up to your usual antics. I'm just not. And don't even point out Garth's here….I'll smack you until your ears bleed."

"You wouldn't feel…so bad if you'd stayed home where you belonged."

"If I had, you'd be dead."

"Garth would have…." wrong thing to say. Full-blown conniption fit happening right there in front of him on the coffee table. "Ok, okay…..right…sure, no…bad Garth." he let his eyelashes flutter, quickest way to weaken Sam's grip on that tight leash he kept on his emotions. "Garth's bad."

"The weather….." Sam looked at the window as rain slashed and pinged against the pane. "Think Garth can handle the car….." he turned back at Dean's sound of disgust. "Now what?"

"My car?" Dean chirped, rousing and coming up on his elbow. "No fucking way. You let him get behind the wheel of _my_ car and I will end you."

"Then I'll go." Sam got to his feet. "Someone has to….."

"Sam?" Dean went down, burrowing into the depths of the sofa cushions, pillows and blankets. "You can't drive."

"I'm open to suggestions Dean. You won't let Garth drive, you don't want me to, and you sure as hell can't. Fuck, you won't even get in the car."

"Sam...I'm telling you...and for once in your life, hear me. You let Garth behind the wheel of my baby in this rain, on that dirt road and he will drive her straight into a ditch." not a slurred word or missed letter, voice strong and clean and adamant.

Sam sat on the table until Dean succumbed to the medication, then stripped down to his underwear and crawled into bed. Dawn was roughly an hour away, but he'd be able to catch a couple of hours of sleep before being on the road by eight.

***000***

Sam woke, fuzzy-headed, dry-mouthed and exhausted. He washed up, dressed, allowed Dean more pain meds, despite the fact he refused to eat, ate an energy bar and was attempting to discern the closest town to their location when the sound of an engine roaring to life blasted the peaceful stillness of the cabin.

"What the fuck?" he cocked his head to listen. "Oh, no." he shoved to his feet and hit the door running. He leapt off the porch and promptly slipped in the ankle-deep mud. He fell hard on his ass, hands splayed behind him to break his fall. He sat on his ass, in the mud, rain a steady downpour and watched Garth spin the Impala's tires, digging ruts and burying her ass belly deep in the mud.

Sam was going to kill him.

"JESUS CHRIST GARTH! CAN'T YOU DO ANYTHING RIGHT?" Sam slopped around in the mud before finally gaining his feet and surging forward with all the grace of an enraged bull. "GET OUT OF THE CAR!" he yanked the driver's door open and dragged Garth from behind the wheel by the collar of his coat. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!" he shook Garth about until he resembled a puppet dangling from string.

"ACK!" Garth squawked. "She's an ass heavy car." he whined defensively. "I'm not used to rear-wheel drive….her weight….." Sam dropped him, hands in his hair as he surveyed the dismaying sight of the car, rear tires sunk so deep in mud, they couldn't be seen. "I just wanted to drive to town….get what we need…bring you back something hot to eat."

Sam ducked in and switched the ignition off then reached down and hauled Garth to his feet by his ear. "Push." he gave Garth a hard shove to the rear of the Impala and got in behind the wheel.

The Impala gave her all, but not even Sam could coax her out of her bed of mud. He toyed with the idea of waking Dean up to drive her out but reality told him even Dean would fail. Then would come Dean's outraged righteousness over Garth attempting to drive the car; Sam would have to hear, "I told you so' chanted at him repeatedly; (like Sam had allowed Garth to steal the keys); deal with Dean's insistence to help get the object of his affection free of her mud prison and listen to the reprimands of the proper way to treat his baby.

No, just no. He wasn't up to any of that. Besides, Dean was in no shape or condition to push the car or dig with a shovel or gather enough wood to layer the mud and give the car traction. He could have used his help though, would have welcomed it under different circumstances. Relying on Garth for help, who once again was responsible for the situation they were in, was going to give him an ulcer, if not a stroke.

Sam sighed, staring at his second and last pair of shoes; there'd be no saving them after this day was done. His dress shoes were lost at the hospital with Dean's cell phone – top two items on the list of things to buy.

"Move." Sam ordered. It was going to be a long day.

Garth had heart and gumption and determination and a willingness to never quit. He tramped the woods alongside Sam, selecting and lugging and layering twigs and limbs and small logs. He got on his knees next to Sam and dug in the mud with his hands when shovels proved ineffective to free the tires of their prison.

He pushed while Sam drove, drove while Sam pushed….worked side by side without complaint, layering more wood in the trench they'd managed to dig each time the Impala gained an inch out of the mud. The rain started and stopped, poured and drizzled, cold and wind-driven. The walls of the hole collapsed more than once, causing them to lose any ground they'd gained and forcing them to start again.

Garth fervently prayed Sam wouldn't be buried under an avalanche of mud and steel. If that happened, he'd have to wake Dean up to come help him free Sam and…well…he'd rather not think about the methods Dean would use to murder him should Sam ever come to harm. And hey, if he were the one buried, he was quite sure Sam would just leave him there.

Finally, hours later - the day wasted, Dean worse, Sam exhausted and sore and shaking and hiding nosebleeds….the Impala popped free of her mud bed and spun down the road, fish-tailing wildly, tires flinging mud, Sam chasing after them, shouting as he lunged and grabbed for the bumper.

"Get off the gas! Let off the gas! Don't ride the brake…STOP THE FUCKING CAR!"

Either Garth heard Sam's frantic shouting and obeyed, or the Impala herself did. She came to a stop in the middle of the road, dripping mud from her under-carriage but purring and raring to go. Sam yanked the driver's door open, and once again, dragged Garth from the seat.

"You ever pull another stupid stunt like that and I will handcuff you from a tree." Sam held him with one hand and popped the trunk with the other. "Let's go."

"Go where?" Garth asked nervously. "Oh, hey no. No, no…see I don't…..did you say _from_ a tree? Sam, come on. Let's talk about this…..I wasn't trying to steal the car."

"Yeah, you were."

"Borrow, I was borrowing it. I was coming back. Honest."

"Garth….the thing about _that_ car." Sam pointed to the Impala. "Is she's a high-strung beast who responds best to her owner. That's not you."

"What? It's a machine Sam, not a horse. Really, dude. Hey, where are we going? You weren't serious….you can't leave me out here…. Sam…Sam? Big guy? Dude? Wait…whoa, whoa, whoa….wait….is that soap?

"Don't push me Garth." he shoved mud-clumped hair out of his face, shivering in the cold rain. "I'm going to wash off in the lake, check on Dean and drive to town."

"The lake? Oh now Sam, I don't think that's a good idea. That water has to be cold and…"

"There's no shower Garth and I'm not going anywhere until I wash this mud off." he grabbed Garth by the back of his neck. "And you're going with me." he removed a bag from the trunk of the car and proceeded to drag Garth with him to the lake.

"WHAT?! Oh no, I'm not! I don't like to swim in open bodies of water…" really, Garth thought, losing purchase in the mud. Where did Sam find the strength to drag him along and did he still possess enough to - gulp - drown him? He stopped protesting and dragging his feet when Sam let him go and began to undress. He eyed the lake nervously and began sidling backwards.

"With or without your clothes." Sam said calmly. "Either way, you're going in." he made a fist. His arm shook and his thumb shot a twinge clear up to his shoulder but yeah, he could hold a 90 lb. soaking-wet light-weight under water until he ceased to breathe.

***000***

Dean stirred at the draft of cold air as the door to the cabin opened but didn't awaken. Not even two, wet arguing naked men entering the cabin roused him from his drug-induced stupor. The over-large shadow moving about speaking in a low timbre was all that was visible from the slit he managed to open his eyes to but it was enough. A cold palm touched his forehead, then his cheek and a thumb pried opened one eye but otherwise, he was left alone.

"He…aah…asleep?" Garth joined him behind the sofa, Sam nodded. "We good to go?"

Sam rubbed his face, eyes burning with fatigue. "Yeah….."

"You sure you don't want to stay here and get some sleep?"

"I can't." Sam snapped, on the fringe of once again losing control. "You can't drive the car…and symptoms from the talisman are _all_ here Garth, the fever was the only one absent….."

"Was?"

"Once all symptoms present….." he choked on emotion, and cleared his throat. "I'm not going to lose my brother again…..I can't."

"You mean, you can't lose another brother." Garth corrected. "Bobby….he, aaah….you know, told me about…"

"Shut up."

"Right….zipping up." Garth nodded. "You can stay….I can drive….." he gulped at the look Sam directed his way. "I mean….maybe I can walk back to my car…..get it free and….."

"I don't have the energy or strength to free another car." Sam said tiredly. "Or the time…"

"You wanna leave me here with him?"

Sam wanted to, oh did he want to. But he didn't know how far away the next town with a pharmacy was. He was so tired and shaky, another nosebleed would likely cause him to faint. Hit with muscles spasms and cramps frequently, he wasn't sure he'd make it back to the motel on his own, let alone to the nearest town and back. Once they were off the dirt road and on pavement, Sam would have to let Garth drive.

"Hey, Dean." Sam leaned over the back of the sofa with pain pills and water. "Take these. You get sick, use the bucket. You gotta piss, use the bucket. You gotta…..well, crawl to the bathroom."

"Waah-ere? Huh?"

"Gotta go to town. We need food, ice, water….your prescription…." ingredients to break the charmed talismans effects. "Not awake, huh?" Dean was sleepy-eyed and heavy-lidded from the effects of pain meds. "I'll leave my phone here….you need me…call Garth's phone."

"Mmpfm?"

"Garth's going with me so you'll be alone. Don't get off the sofa unless you have to…ok?" he grinned at Dean's attempt and failure to respond. "Pain meds knock him out, he'll sleep." Sam pushed away from the sofa. "Let's go."


	7. Chapter 7

Garth wisely remained silent as Sam guided the car down the mud-slick road. Sam had wanted to be on his way to town by 8 a.m. and now it was going on 5 p.m. and he wasn't likely to get over the reason for the delay any time soon. Garth wanted to discuss the talisman and question whether it was wise to leave Dean alone and allow him to remain in a cabin that lacked electricity but…no. Oh no, nope, not going there, he was too fond of his teeth to go there.

It took twenty minutes to travel the ten miles to the motel they'd stopped at the night before and Sam had yet to say a word. Garth remained in the car while Sam entered the mini-mart and obtained directions to the nearest town. By the look on his face when he returned to the car, it was obvious the town was further away than he was happy with.

"Want me to drive?" Garth was already sliding across the seat so Sam veered around the car and opened the passenger door. Garth had wondered why Sam insisted he accompany him rather than remain with Dean and now he knew.

"You put this car in a ditch and I swear to God Garth, I will leave you naked on the side of the road." Sam sank into the seat and laid his head against the window. "Get on 824 and go south. Closest town with a pharmacy is twenty-four miles away."

"Ok….ok…sure….but Sam, hey….do you, I mean, well….if the symptoms are a result of the talisman…why bother to get the prescription filled? Do you really believe it'll help him?"

"Cause he_ still _fell down a flight on concrete stairs and pain like that doesn't go away just because you're cured of a magical curse inflicted upon you from a talisman wielded by a ghost." Sam rolled his head. "He hurts Garth, and he's gonna for a while and even if I had enough Vicodin sample packets, it isn't going to hold him."

"Oh."

Silence.

"Didn't he….I mean….there were…more sample packets…." Garth ventured.

"NO!"

Garth let it go, gawking about while driving just under the posted speed limit. Talk about being in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere. If only Sam would force Dean to get in the car….he slid a sideways glance at Sam, no, no, best not bring that up either.

"Drop me off….and go find everything on this list." Sam handed him a piece of paper. "Town should have a grocery store. Half an hour Garth." he climbed from the car. "Don't make me come find you."

"Everything?" Garth repeated. "Dude, this is like a….one-street town. How am I supposed to….?"

"Improvise Garth! You're a damn hunter – we make do." Sam slammed the door and walked into the pharmacy.

"No, right…no problem….sure dude….right, anything for you." Garth reread the list and pulled out.

***000***

Oh-holy-mother-fucker, he was being tortured – again: His toenails were being pulled from his toes, heated spikes had been driven into his hip, hot pokers filleted the skin from his shoulder, thumb screws twisted every finger on his left hand and something was repeatedly hammering at his elbow.

"OW!" Dean woke with a violent jerk, screaming in agony as he flailed about in attempt to withdraw from whatever was killing him. "WAA-AARRGH!" the sofa was plush, the cushions soft and plump, giving him no purchase to push himself up to a sitting position. He didn't give up – not that he knew it was a sofa he was fighting to free himself from – determined to conquer the evil that entrapped him. "SAM!" he choked, fighting the pain, the blanket, the sofa, his stomach….the very air around him. "SAA-AMM!"

Pain from the impact of his foot kicking the arm of the sofa left him limp and panting but also knocked him clear-headed. "Fuck-me." he groaned a moment later into the pillow. "Sam?" he blinked repeatedly until the dim room came into focus. "Sam? Sam? Hey, I… don't….feel so…..good." he struggled to sit up but both the sofa and his body decided he should remain lying down. He groaned again, stomach roiling. His full-body stretch halted mid-yawn with a yelp that made his toes curl. His right foot obeyed his request to flex and rotate but his left…? Huh.

He rested a moment then resumed his struggles but pain forced his submission and his stomach, having taken exception to his repeated attempts, gave him scant warning before deciding to empty itself. It was amazing what a person, who couldn't force his body to obey a simple command, could do when faced with lying in their own vomit. He flung his entire body to the right, rolling onto his shoulder and hip in time to hang his head off the sofa and upchuck in the bucket sitting on the floor next to the sofa.

Oooh, oooowww, eeeeeeee…Christ, he felt like crap. Where the _hell_ was Sam? Why wasn't his annoying-never-stays-where-he's-put brother bringing him a glass of water and a towel to wipe the sweat from his face? Maybe a pathetic whine and a pitiful grunt would bring him running.

Dean gave it a try – nothing. All he wanted – needed – was something to drink and the bucket removed. As his stomach tried to settle – without the soothing aid of ginger-ale – his mind cleared and fragments of memories started flashing back to him; right, Sam hadn't been feeling good. If Dean's play-acting hadn't brought him running all wide-eyed and soft-toned, he must really feel like shit.

His left arm found it cozy to remain against his side and lookee there, wooo-weee, he had three knees! Well, okay, didn't really need his left arm anyway and only two knees were required to walk. Course, he also needed two feet and looking at his left foot…..he squinted, mind diverted when he realized all he wore was underwear.

"Oye."

His hip – man, Sam could have at_ least_ found and plugged in the heating-pad – ached but didn't prohibit movement. It was his stomach and pelvis that prevented him from gaining an upright position. He licked his lips, tongue flailing as though trying to dislodge a piece of lint. His throat was scratchy, his mouth sucked dry of moisture and he simply had to have something to drink.

"Sam!"

He wanted water and the bucket taken away but Sam failed to make an appearance. Well, fine, let Sam play the part of injured little prick, who needed him anyway? Dean clamped his jaw closed, gritted his teeth and in a moment of sheer lunacy, swung his feet to the floor with the intent to sit up and-What the hell was he doing on the fucking floor? Why hadn't his ear-splitting shriek of pain brought Sam running? Sam would sleep through Dean's fake moans and groans and playful attempts to gain his attention and sympathy, but he always responded to the true sounds of Dean in pain or distress.

"SAMMY!?" he couldn't move, he tried but he couldn't even push the table away or squirm into a comfortable position. With nothing else to do except wait in extreme discomfort to pass out, he let his mind wander and search for answers. Where was Sam?

The hunt – Garth – the ER – the motel – his missing cell – back to the ER – Sam in town – Garth – driving to the motel – motel not where he'd left it – Sam on the phone – Sam yelling at him – Sam dragging him from the car – riding in the car with Sam – Sam dragging him from the car – Sam making him take a bath – a_ bath!_ – bits and pieces of conversation and arguments – something about a curse and a cure – oh – Garth.

Well, he might've broken a bone or thrown his shoulder out again or given himself a concussion – not that he could tell – falling from the sofa, but hey, at least, he hadn't managed to knock over the bucket from his ungainly crash to the floor.

***000***

Sam wandered the aisles of the chain drug-store, swinging a basket. He doubted Dean would feel much like eating, and though Sam would never outwardly show any concern, he searched for foods he knew his brother would be tempted to eat; box of donuts, loaf of bread – though not having done it since he'd been a teen, Sam was sure he could still toast bread over a flame – jar of jelly, package of hot-dogs, can of soup, did drug-stores sell cooking pots? Bottled water, let's see, what else….Huh, wow, was it warm in the store or what? .

Right, okay Sam…..sit down before you fall down. He staggered to the pharmacy at the back of the store where, with a sheepish smile, he took a seat between two elderly ladies on a hard plastic chair. If he were to remain standing, he'd face-plant on the floor, an ambulance would be called, Garth wouldn't have a fucking clue what had happened and Sam couldn't count on him not to try and find him instead of going back to the cabin to be with Dean.

Once he had the prescription, the ingredients for the cure and was back at the cabin, Dean tended and treated and given the cure, then – _then_ – Sam could submit to his body's weaknesses but not before. This time, Dean came first and it was up to Sam to see that he did. He laid his head against the wall and let his eyes close. Garth…..good God…..would he come through with the list?

Willow Bark for fever, vinegar and comfrey leaves for bruises, Bromelain, Ginger and Aloe for swelling, Sandalwood to keep the symptoms and effects of the talisman from advancing. Once Dean had taken the – antidote(s) was as good term as any – the talisman's spell would cease to be effective and modern medicine would see him well on his way to comfort and recovery.

What the…? He didn't recall dozing off or passing out, hadn't been aware of a change in his breathing or making any noise but he must have exhibited some kind of distress because…..his knee was patted, his wrist chafed and his hand squeezed. A warm palm cupped his cheek and patted lightly. His eyes shot open, but as his body prepared for imminent threat, his mind concluded there was no danger and he relaxed.

"Are you ok dearie?" the kind, wrinkled, concerned faces of the two elderly ladies he sat between hovered over him, their hands a flutter as they chattered to one another, peering at him from either side.

"You're quite pale." one dug about in the suitcase on her lap Sam was sure she called a purse and withdrew a daintily embroidered hanky. The other got to her feet and shuffled over to the water bottle and filled a cone-cup. Sam licked his lips….that water was going to taste soooooo…..wait….what was she doing? The seated lady dipped a corner of her hanky in the cup and began dabbing between his eyebrows and down his nose to his upper lip.

"Huh?" he blinked, trying to focus his eyes as well as his thoughts. "Where'm…oh." he heard the rustling of plastic, the opening of a wrapper and the scent of chocolate assaulted his nostrils. "Oh…er….I don't….no thank you." the last thing he wanted was anything to eat, but they were so eager to help and obviously wanted to please that he didn't have the heart to disappoint them so he took a bite

"There's a good boy." was crooned at him. "Small bites, chew it all before swallowing."

More dabs at his lip and cheeks and his tongue darted out with a will of its own, searching for water. The gesture was understood and seconds later, the cup bumped his chin, held by a slightly unsteady hand as he was cautioned to take small sips. Another bite of chocolate…..nougat but no caramel…light and airy….melted on his tongue…..and surprisingly, after several minutes, the overwhelming light-headedness subsided and he felt…..huh, he felt…..better.

"There he is!" she beamed proudly, handing the remaining candy bar to him. "All you needed was a little sugar."

"Aaah…..thanks…thank you." he stuttered. "I'm good."

"You are still very pale, my boy. My goodness, you gave us a fright!"

"Aah…well….yeah…see, I….sorry." he finished lamely.

"Sam, you ready?" Garth was standing in front of him. "You said half an hour! I've been…Sam? Hey, hi, it's me —Garth." he added at Sam's blank look. "Oh say now, you're not gonna pretend you don't know me, are you?"

"Aah, no…."

"You good to go?"

"I'm not finished shopping…..need instant heat and ice packs….and…."

"For Dean? Dude, you sure?…okay, okay…don't be looking at me like that. Right, no electric but hot towels…no? Okay, come on, I gotta pick up a couple things too. You got the prescription? Cool, ok, good, so…..how you gonna pay for it?

***000***

"What the fuck is this?" Sam demanded as he pawed through the bag on his lap, Garth driving. "How could you screw this up? I gave you a list Garth! A specific, detailed list!"

"I got everything on your list!" Garth said defensively. He was beginning to get just a _tad bit_ irritated with Sam's ungratefulness, constant dissatisfaction, attitude and threats.

"In what language did you translate, 'Calgon take me away' to?"

"LOOK OUT THE WINDOW SAM!" Garth raised his voice. "The town has five streets. Five! One ma and pa grocery store and I'll tell ya, Sam, it had two check-out counters. Just where did you expect me to find Sandalwood!?"

"That's what this is supposed to be? Sandalwood?" he read the label. "Moon Petal Musk." he wrinkled his nose in doubt. "Yeah, I'll let you be the one to tell him you're gonna spray him down with women's body spray."

"It has Sandalwood." Garth snapped. "There's bubble bath too."

"I meant oil or incense….."

"There's candles _and_ incense in the bag too." Garth growled, deciding it best not to mention it was perfumed incense. "I did the best I could Sam. If you can do better, I will turn around."

Sam chose to ignore him. "Fresh ginger….good, though he's not gonna like drinking it mixed with hot water." Sam talked to himself. "Will have to make it into a powder first….doable…..Aloe gel…..good, can just rub that in." a snort. "He's gonna love that….okay…we're good on swelling. So, next…bruises…vinegar, huh, got that right….comfrey leaves….comfrey…..I don't see…..oh…tea leaves with comfrey…will have to do I guess. Let's see, Bromelain vitamins….huh….cudda got a fresh pinapple….no matter…like I could get Dean to eat fruit, riigghhtt…..hell, I'll be lucky to get him to eat anything….Ok, last…..willow bark tea…willow bark…willow…. I don't….."

"I couldn't find any." Garth admitted. "I…." he braced himself for the explosion followed by a massive melt-down but Sam shrugged and set the bag on the floor."

"I'll find a tree in the woods at the cabin."

"You know….you know how to do that? Make the tea, I mean?"

"Yeah, I know how." he didn't add Dean didn't like the taste no matter what was added to blunt the bitterness and went back to talking to himself. "…..still need ice, can stop at that mini-mart near the cabin….maybe get some lemon or honey for the tea…hey, pull in." he interrupted himself suddenly, startling Garth who jerked the wheel and swerved, losing the backend. "Jesus Garth! WATCH what the HELL you're doing!" Sam yelped as the back tires swung to the right and off the berm. "GET back on the ROAD!"

"STOP scaring me like that!" Garth exclaimed. "You make me nervous and then you start yelling at me!"

"Next time, I will leave you behind." Sam vowed absently. "Turn around, you passed it."

"I passed what?" Garth couldn't keep up with Sam's mood swings. "You know Sam, I'm tired and hungry and I'd like to find myself at the cabin. Getting back there is…."

"And Dean is bruised and swollen and cursed." Sam barked. "Hey, why's that again Garth? Oh, right, he was thrown down a flight of concrete stairs on _your _watch."

"You know…." Garth's fingers tapped a steady rhythm on the steering wheel. "I'm beginning to feel you hold that against me?'

"Beginning to? Hell, what was your first clue?" Sam asked sarcastically. "And stop that tapping or I will break every finger you have."

Garth puffed-up in outrage. "Now see here Sam….eeeEEEEee!" he squawked when Sam grabbed the wheel and fought him for control. "Okay, OKAY, let go…..Sam….I said let go. I'll stop, see? I'm stopping, now let go. Sam, letgoletgoletgo... LET GO!"

Sam relinquished his hold on the wheel and Garth slowed the car and his heart rate as he pulled to the side of the road. "Now." he swallowed, almost able to breathe again. "Pull in where? There's nothing out here."

"You missed it, turn around."

"Missed what?" Garth asked, perplexed.

"Gas station."

"We don't need gas."

"Garth!" Sam fought for his temper, and sought his patience. "Turn. This. Car. Around. Or. I. Will. Throw. You. From. It. While. It. Is. Moving."

Garth gulped. Sam hadn't raised his voice but his tone sent shivers down Garth's back. "Okay, ok. Easy there, big dude. Chill out, okay?" he did a U-turn in the road and headed back in the direction they'd just come. "Where….oh there? That building? Aah, yeah…no." Garth shook his head. "You sure? It's a gas station….oh, ice cream? In this weather? Okay, I see….I think I see….no, no I don't see." he felt his skin heat from Sam's intense glare. "Oh, well….sure. I guess."

***000***

"Dean? Hey man, we're back." Sam entered the cabin, arms loaded with bags. "Dean? You awake?" he put the bags on the table and began to unpack them. "Dude, come on, I'm tired and not up to playing games with you."

"Sam." Garth, hands on hips, clucked his tongue in disapproval. "Dean! Seriously, dude, what are you doing on the floor?"

Sam braced his palms on the table but his arms didn't cease shaking so he blindly groped for a chair and awkwardly fell into it. Half his ass missed the seat, the other half overcompensated and he nearly went over backwards. Gaining his balance, he lowered his head to rest on the table. Why couldn't Dean ever do what he was told or stay where he was put?

"You hurt anything?" Garth was asking Dean as Sam came around the sofa and shoved the coffee table out of the way so he could squat down next to his brother.

"Shit Dean, what'd you go and do? Hey, you with me?" Sam shouldered Garth aside. Dean had yet to move or respond to Garth but Sam wasn't about to be ignored. "DEAN!" he felt for broken bones. "Dean, hey! Dean."

"Numpfh." came the reply.

After some shaking, repeated name calling, a slap or two and a couple threats of bodily harm, Dean finally groaned, coming around to Sam's repeated attempts to garner a response from him. "Dean? Hey there, hi." Sam teased when Dean blinked, eyes narrowing but failing to gain focus. "I'm the one in the middle dude." he snapped his fingers. "Hey."

"Don't." Dean muttered, raising a hand to his head. "Cold…..ow…..water?"

"Yeah, come on, get your ass off the floor."

"I'm….good." he swallowed, throat thick. "….here…..."

That was probably true, Sam thought. Wasn't anywhere Dean was going to feel comfortable for a couple of days. Not even with strong pain meds. "Yeah, well….sorry…..no."

"I….I feel….like….."

"Like shit?" Sam grinned. "Yeah, I know you do…come on…..up you go." he'd left Dean on the sofa for two reasons. 1, it was closer to the fire where he'd be warmer and 2, Sam hadn't thought he'd fall off it. Oh, right, it was Dean. "Ready?"

"No."

"Count of three….."

"Go 'way."

"Don't fight me or you'll just hurt yourself." Sam warned. "You didn't appear to hurt anything when you fell off the sofa, though it's hard to tell….how'd you manage to do that anyway?"

"Dunno.

With a litany of ow's and ouch's accompanied by a chorus of grunts and cries and curses, Sam got Dean off the floor, but before he could deposit him on his ass on the sofa, Dean motioned to the bathroom. Sam rolled his eyes, Dean just had to pee now?

By the time Dean was settled on the sofa with his fleece, left foot elevated with ice, a heat pack on his hip, another on his knee and an ice pack on his shoulder, he was limp and quiet from exhaustion. Garth took a seat on the coffee table and tried to tempt Dean with a glass of ginger-ale while telling him all about the drive to town. Sam unpacked the groceries, built a fire in the wood stove and put water on to boil then shaved the ginger root to make a powder fine enough it would dissolve in hot water.

It'd been a long day and a long night loomed. Dean wouldn't willingly submit to being sprayed or bathed or rubbed or babysat. Sam quaffed over the irony. Left alone, the dumbass had somehow managed to fall off the sofa and whack his head hard enough his eyes _still_ refused to focus. No, he would bitch and bicker and banter about why he shouldn't have to drink, nasty, bitter tea or hot, grainy water. He wouldn't want to eat anything but would expect the pain meds to be readily given and he'd rebuff any attempts to make him comfortable or ease his pain.

Sam sighed, stirring the ginger root in a glass of water with a spoon to dissolve it. Dean was always difficult when down with injury or illness and this time would be no different. Good thing Sam had years of experience and an unlimited supply of patience.

"I want you to drink this, Dean." Sam coaxed patiently. "Please? Yeah, I know….smells, but…come on…."

"Wha's't?"

"It…...it's ginger. It'll help….it's a natural blood thinner and will reduce the pooling of blood."

"I know what it does." Dean groused sleepily. "Why…" he struggled to focus and remain awake. "Why I…need it?"

"You're swollen from head to toe Dean…..can't let it get worse."

"Don't want it."

"Tough."

"Getit 'way from me."

"Come on, swallow."

"No."

"You have to take Bromelain too….and since I doubted you'd eat pineapple, I got pills…..Dean….hey, stay awake!"

"Bro-me-what?"

"It aids in the blocking of compounds that cause fluids to pool and swell in the body."

Funny, earlier he'd wanted Sam to make him feel better and now he only wanted the annoying, persistent pain-in-the-ass to go away. "Go 'way Sammy."

"Sure…..soon as you take these and drink this."

"Pain meds?"

"Not yet." Sam set a white Styrofoam cup on the coffee table within Dean's line of sight. When all else failed, Sam knew Dean would buckle to bribery. "Want this?"

"Milkshake?" Dean perked up. "Strawberry?"

"You drink the ginger, take the vitamins and you can have it." Sam waited. "Deal?" silence, no nod of agreement. Huh, milkshakes rarely failed to gain cooperation, so he added. "With more pain meds."

Dean would have agreed to anything Sam suggested to get more pain meds but the cup of water Sam handed him might as well have been a gallon. He spit and dribbled and drooled more than he swallowed but Sam was satisfied with the empty glass and held out two pills and a tablet. "Two vitamins and a pain pill." Sam informed him, and then warned. "Swallow these first and don't you dare chew them."

"Only one pain pill?" Dean accepted a cup of water and swallowed both pills then looked expectedly at the third tablet in Sam's hand. "Gimme."

"They're high dosage." Sam's tone spelled out his disapproval. "If one doesn't hold you, we'll try two next time. Aah-ah, don't swallow, hold it under your tongue until it dissolves."

"Heh?" Dean frowned, trying to comprehend what Sam was telling him. "What…what's wrong with pills?"

"Prescription was either that or suppositories." Sam laughed at the look of dismayed horror to cross his brother's face. "Yeah, you're welcome."

Dean muttered under his breath, shaking his head to brush Sam off when his younger brother demanded he speak up. Well-meaning or not, if Sam thought he was going to bribe Dean into drinking more of that chalk, he was in for one hell of a shock. Okay, so his left arm was having a love affair with his side but his right arm could easily throw a punch should he demand it do so. Let Sam sit and stew about that! Frick-fracking pain-in-the-ass up and disappears then comes back all bossy and demanding and dares to...

What the…..? Good God…..! How dare he…? What the fuck was Samantha doing now? Was he...he was! He was _fussing_!

Sam's giant paws held a towel and were patting and dabbing it all over Dean's chin and neck and chest, wiping and…..Dean growled his displeasure and smacked Sam's hands away, throwing his arm up to block Sam's renewed attempts to coddle him.

"Iffin' you're fond on those fingers, keep 'em to yourself." Dean threatened.

"You're a mess." Sam said mildly. "Sweat, spit, puke…what you pretended to drink….ginger is sticky…"

"Chalky." Dean corrected. "Leave off, Sam."

"Shush." Sam said soothingly. "Kinda hard to tell where you're bruised and not swollen or swollen and not bruised…so first, I'm gonna give you a bath in…well…." best not to mention it would be in women's bubble bath. "Then sponge you down with vinegar and warm water, then…"

"You're gonna do what?" Dean gave his head a shake, certain his ears were confused translating Sam's words to syllables he could understand.

Wow, words could be lethal. Garth was at the table, pulling apart tea bags and putting all the leaves in a bowl while more water boiled on the stove. If Dean ever used that tone of voice with him, he'd take to his heels and run away. Far away. Far, far away. But Sam? Sam ignored him and went right on talking.

"Lift your head….lemme get the back of your neck."

"SAM!" Dean gasped aghast over being man-handled by his_ younger_ brother and being able to do little about it.

"Vinegar has many uses." Sam explained. "In this case, it increases blood flow near the skin's surface to help dissipate the pooled blood. Then, I'll rub you down with aloe lotion and finally, on the bruises that are swollen – 'cause only you would get swollen bruises – I'll apply the comfrey compress Garth is making. Comfrey contains compounds that reduces swelling and promotes the rapid growth of new cells."

Dean held Sam's wrist in a brutal grip, eyes wide in horror. "What the _hell_ is wrong with _you_?" he demanded. "You. Are. Not. Going. To. Bathe. Or. Rub. Or. Sponge. Me. Or. Apply. Anything. Anywhere. Or. I. Will…..."

"You're cursed." Sam said simply, shaking his arm free and putting the milkshake in Dean's hands. "Drink that while I get your bubble-bath ready."

"Say what?"

Sam stood up and leaned over the back of the couch, nose to nose in his brother's face. "Oh, I'm going to enjoy this." Sam smirked, feeling bubbly and buoyant and better than he had since going to Lemay. "When this is all done, I doubt you will ever go hunting with Garth again." he patted his brother's head with a patronizing, condescending pat and snatched his hand away before Dean could grab it, hold it and bite it "Wuv you too!" he laughed. "Yo, Garth!"


	8. Chapter 8

Dean sank into the depths of the sofa and found the straw with his tongue. The thick, cold, shake felt good against his raw throat and though he wasn't hungry, he was thirsty so he decided to ignore what Sam was doing – going to do – and enjoy the creamy treat. Besides, with the way he felt, there wasn't anything he could do about Sam.

What had Sam given him again? His prescription…right…yeah…..that was it, now what the fuck was it? Sam hadn't been happy about it, that much Dean remembered. Huh….it was….he felt…..he didn't have…..oh crap. Probably an op…opi…..opry, yeah that was it. That was what Sam didn't like him to have 'cause he didn't always respond well to strong meds. He snickered, well, huh, surprise, surprise…..good ole Sammy had allowed him to have it.

Weeeee-eeeeee!

Aah,….pain meds were great, no need to fight them. He felt good, no aches, no pains, no discomfort. He was snug and warm and comfy and safe; the room was quiet, the night peaceful…..no worries, no concerns, no threats, just Sam teasing him about a bubble bath….wait, what? Memories returned and his peace shattered. Baths and compresses and sponges, no…just no. What the hell was the kid thinking? Asking him to drink that foul concoction of….…he paused mid-slurp, creamy pink milkshake bubbling on his lips and dribbling down his chin. He chased it with his tongue. Oh-Dear-God, did Sam expect him to drink _more_ of that evil brew? What had he said? It was for the swelling? No, just no. Sorry Sammy, but no, nuh-uh…..one time deal brother-o-mine.

Swelling! Ha, where?! And what bruises? Show him _one_ bruise…..well….he frowned. Okay, yeah, maybe his ear could be…might be….well, it looked black and blue, but bruised? Nah! You couldn't _bruise_ your ear! Could you? And it most certainly was not swollen! Er, right?

And just where did Sam get off saying anything was swollen? Oh wait, he did have three knees, for his left leg sported two and between his pudgy toes and puffy ankle, his left foot rivaled his head for claim to largest part of his body and oh yeah…. there was his hip….he'd been taking a piss and….wow, lookit that, his fingers on his left hand…where were his knuckles? Shouldn't he have like – ten? Two on each finger and he had five fingers and huh...was his wrist wider than his hand?! And Oh! Oh, his elbow, he'd noticed that too while trying to balance on one foot and pee and oh, right….whoa…hey, it was all the left side of his body!

He sucked and sipped and swallowed more milkshake, trying to quell his rising panic and not shout like a little girl crying for her mother so his brother would come running. Yeah, he didn't succeed. Cursed? _He was cursed?!_ Sam had said he was cursed. He spit, feet flailing.

"SAM!" he fought the couch and the couch won. He sunk lower, deeper into its depths and the fingers and arms it had sprouted wrapped around him and held him tight. "SAM!" panic, oh-good-doing, Dean. Yeah, flip out, that'll help. "SAM!"

"Hey, hey, hey." goofy-grinned Garth loomed over him. "Hey now, what's all this noise about?"

"Where's Sam?" he wavered between pouting and scowling. Dammit, he wanted Sam, not Garth. "SAM!"

"Hey, hey, pipe down. Stop yelling, he's not here to hear you." Garth was way too happy and Dean itched to slap him sad. "He's out looking for a tree." Garth explained, attempting to help him sit up but Dean fought both him and the sofa. "Dean, hey, come on, just trying to help here."

"We have…plumbing." Dean scowled. "Try again."

"No, no….he, ah, kinda…..he…..needs a specific tree." Garth took the milkshake and set it on the table. "So, how you doing? Pain meds kicking in yet? Should be….how you feeling?"

"What'r you doin' here?" he was finally sitting up, feet on the floor. "What'm I doin' here?" he looked around. "Where the fuck are we?"

"Now, now, just calm down." Garth made a motion with his hands, palms to the floor. "Everything's good…no need to fight me. Sam'll be right back then we'll get you in the tub…."

"I ain't taking no bath and someone had better tell me what the fuck's going on or I'll start bouncing heads off walls until someone starts talking." effects and reactions to pain meds could be conquered if – when – the effort to do so was put forth.

Garth gulped, took a step back and swallowed repeatedly. It was no use; the lump remained lodged in this throat. How come Dean had been all dopey/mopey with Sam but with Garth, he was all lucid and coherent and full of threats? It wouldn't be Sam's head being bounced off a wall. Oh no, Mr. My-nose-bleeds-and-I-pass-out-on-little-old-ladies was still strong enough to take on Dean. Sure, let Sam be around and the elder Winchester would succumb to the effects of curses and pain killers and be manhandled and manipulated but lordy-lo, let him be alone and waa-laa! He was all bright-eyed and clear-headed, ready to take on anyone who stood in his way of getting answers.

Garth sighed.

"Okay, chill out big guy." Garth began, prepared to flee should Dean gain his feet and be able to remain standing. "See….we were on a hunt and you fell down the steps, remember? We went to the ER and you passed out or something 'cause they – someone at the hospital – called Sam, who and I dunno why, was already in Lemay but you'd left by the time he got to the ER but then you went back, cause you'd left your phone there and they called Sam again and when he found you, you were hopped up on whatever they shot you up with so he put you in the car and started to drive back to…..your aah, hideout in Kansas, but you…asked to stop…..there was a detour 'cause of the rain and we're like in the middle of nowhere and the motel was booked so Sam rented this cabin. We…found a town about fifty miles away….see it's ten to the motel and then twenty some more to the town….I know, I know…it's not really fifty miles but…..ok…okay, right….you're losing patience, I can tell…just wipe that look off your face." Garth said quickly. "And so while we were in town…..we got the ingredients we need to break or fight or counteract the curse except – only – I couldn't get the exact ingredients for some of the things the cure calls for….well not, really a cure but…..right, right, straying again….okay, so anyway…Sam… he said everything will work except the store in town…tiny little ma and pa…and you don't care….okay well, see….."

"Garth…..just spit out where Sam is and why."

"I told you…he went to find a tree….see I got everything needed for the swelling and the bruising but the fever….well..."

"What fever?"

"Yours."

"I'm not running a fever!" Dean put his palm to his forehead. "Am I?"

"Yeah, dude…you are."

"Why would Sam need a…?" Dean frowned, trying to think. "NO! Oh no. nononononono…oh hell no! I hate that fucking tea!"

"See, the talisman cure calls for specific…"

"No."

"We gotta keep your fever down…."

"Yeah, and it's called Tylenol." Dean pushed to his feet, swayed on two feet, lifted his left from the floor and promptly planted his ass on the sofa. "DAMMIT!"

"You're good Dean." Garth assured him. "Sam's taking care of….."

"I'm not drinking any willow bark tea." Dean stated flatly. Garth was impressed Dean knew what Sam searching for a specific tree without it being named meant. "Or taking a fucking _bubble bath_ or being sponged down with vinegar and covered with compresses." he was once again on his feet – foot – this time supporting his weight by holding onto the back of the sofa. Where he thought he could go unaided or what he thought he was going to do was something Garth hadn't figured out.

"Yeah, you are." neither had heard Sam come in but there he was, reaching for his brother who extended an arm to ward him off. "What the hell is he doing up Garth? I told you to keep him quiet and on the sofa." he smacked Dean's hand down, shooting Garth a look that spoke volumes of what he thought about Garth allowing Dean to get up. "Bath isn't ready yet, water's still heating."

Right, Garth snorted, like he had any control over Dean's thoughts and/or movements. Right back atcha Sammy ole boy! You went out and left him with me – not that Garth could identify a willow tree or know how much bark was needed or how to retrieve it – and, I don't see you having much success putting him where you want him either.

Dean protested Sam's attempts to grab him and a feminine slap-fight ensued. Garth stood, watching and grinning, bets on Sam. The slap-fest lasted longer than Garth would have thought; Dean one-handed, Sam taking most of the slaps to avoid hitting his brother anywhere on his left side. It ended when Dean lost his balance, put weight on his left leg without thinking about the consequences and ended up in Sam's arms who none-to-gently deposited him back on the sofa.

"No use fighting me Dean, curse isn't going to let you win." Sam told him. "Stop fighting the pain meds and go with it….I don't need you awake to toss you in the tub or to get you outta it."

"Might be better if you were unconscious." Garth added helpfully. "And I'm here to help Sam."

Identical looks of doom were thrown his way and he made the motion of zipping his lips, turning the key and tossing it away. Yeah sure, the brothers fought one another until they had a reason to unite and face an opponent together, then whoever had taken sides prior, had better run for their very life. Sam went to pour water into the tub from the boiling pots, set Garth to pumping more water to boil, and added a couple buckets of cold water.

Having been left on the sofa, dazed in a haze of fighting being under the influence, his emotions masked and guiding his actions, Dean allowed himself to be lifted from the sofa when they came for him. Using Garth and Sam as crutches, he limped and hopped and was finally carried to the bathroom where they attempted to deposit him in a tub of barely warm water and…what the hell – JESUS CHRIST - yes-indeedy sweetie, foamy, frilly, smelly….._bubbles. _

Oh hell, no! There was no way in hell Sam was going to give him a bubble bath! No, no, no….just let him try….oh, he might succeed in getting Dean in the tub but there was no way, _no way in hell_, Sam would get him to remain there! Soon as Sam's back was turned, he'd crawl out on his belly if he had to….and aww, crap, Sam wasn't leaving! Sam wasn't letting go of him, going down on his knees next to the tub and maneuvering one limb at a time until at some point every inch of Dean was submerged under water, his head included – his lips sputtered and bubbles fluttered.

No amount of coughing, choking, sputtering, cursing, threatening or pleading diverted Sam from his task, even his hair was scrubbed with bubbles. Sam patiently continued his quest, his hands gentle as he held, moved and positioned Dean as he wanted him. Either Sam had grown four arms or Garth wielded the wash cloth. But….? Dean squirmed and a hand rested against his chest and a soft voice told him to put, they were almost done.

The movements and holds and grips were secure and steady, sure in their chore…..no fumbling or shaking - neither rough nor harsh – and overly familiar. When Dean was allowed to pop his head above water after what had better be his final dunking, he managed to open his eyes and once the soap running down his face was wiped away, only Sam's face hovered about his. Something to be thankful for - no Garth.

The grip was firm yet gentle as the cloth see-sawed between his toes – ever-so-gently-on his left foot, stopping when he jerked or muffled a curse or cry, waiting until he'd relaxed before starting again. The worst over, the cloth moved on: over his hands, between his fingers, up his arms, behind his ears, down his neck, across his shoulders, down his back, under the back of his knees, the crease of elbows and arm pits - gingerly and with a slight degree of difficulty on his left but with dogged determination, nonetheless – his forehead, nose, cheeks, lips, chin, throat before coming to his clavicle and finally stopping.

He forced his eyes opened and glared. If that touchy-feely jerk dared to go any lower or slide one finger under the elastic of Dean's briefs, he'd never regain proper use of that hand again. Not even Sam was brave or stupid enough, depending on how you chose to look at it, to challenge those bright, hard green eyes that held an edge and conveyed a clear message. Sam chewed on his lip, contemplating life with a crippled hand and acquiesced without reprimand.

"Aah….here." the cloth was pressed into his hand. No further words needed to be said, intent and directions were conveyed with the transfer of the wash cloth. "Start where I stopped." he was ordered. "Every bit of you Dean. If you don't do it…I will." Dean growled and splashed water in Sam's face. He took the hint and got to his feet, backing off and though Dean kept his eyes closed, he was pretty damn sure Sam didn't leave the bathroom.

Finally, the humiliating bath was over. Dean was lifted out of the tub, set on his feet – foot – told to stand still – like that was possible – toweled off and ordered to raise his right arm over his head and not move. Not gonna happen. He didn't fight the hands that settled on either side of his ribcage to help give him balance or offer a protest until his left arm was taken and carefully, gently, pulled away from his side. Shushing followed by a symphony of sorry, sorry, sorry, in a gentle, patient tone was enough for him to allow the manipulation.

He thought he voiced a question as to what was being spritzed all over him, but if he did, he went ignored. He heard murmuring, muffled voices; right, Garth had joined them. His nose twitched at the scent enveloping him, face scrunching up as he fought not to sneeze. A sneeze would likely knock him off his feet – foot, Garth would never be able to hold him up.

For the love of all that was holy, how long did they intend to spray him? How big was the fucking bottle? Were they going to use it all?

His chin was held, his fact tilted, a thumb held his eyelashes against his cheek and his eyelids, _his freaking eyelids_, were sprayed, first one, then the other. First sprayed, then massaged; nose, lips, ears, his left caressed at his whimper of distress….again at his toes and fingers and back of his knees…..one arm pit. It'd been easy to slide a hand with a wash cloth under his arm but he simply wasn't capable of raising his left arm over his head to allow spritzing...and that had better be a fucking q-tip in his ear!

Now a hand was sliding between his side and his arm. It tickled, and something was dripping down his side. His arm was carefully moved away from his body - again - and held while whatever they were spritzing him with was dabbed and rubbed in. Oh Christ, this was beyond embarrassing, it was humiliating! It went on…his legs, his feet, his back, his neck, shoulders, chest, belly…belly button…..

He shuddered…..whoa….his hand snagged the wrist holding the bottle and he forcefully gained possession – there were something's he was still capable of doing himself. Every bit on him indeed! God, he was beyond mortified. Finally, Sam was satisfied and he was pushed onto the tub side and handed a pair of dry briefs. He was offered water but when he declined with a shake of his head, the cup was withdrawn and he was alone, given several minutes to change and regroup.

Several minutes? Not nearly long enough. His breath still hadn't been caught and he'd yet to work through just what he'd been subjected to when they came to get him. Now he was being told to lie down, right side against the back of the sofa and ordered to hold still while a sponge ghosted every inch of skin that was bruised and/or swollen. The water was warm, the sponge soft, the touch gentle and though the sponge bath didn't cause him any pain, it did at times tickle, making him squirm. All he could do was wonder if perhaps it wasn't washing off all the bubble bath and spray they'd seemed determined to drown him in.

Finally, Sam appeared to tire of repeatedly holding the sponge against his toes, ankle, knee, hip, wrist, fingers, elbow, shoulder and ear and Dean sighed in relief, muscles relaxing as tension eased off. He expected his nice warm fuzzy fleece to be tossed over him, was looking forward to pulling it over his shoulders, letting his eyes close and…..son-of-a-bitch! He jerked, attention snapping front and center – lo and behold – he was being spritzed again! This time though, it was only where the sponge had touched him. His grumbling, groaning, grousing and moaning about his misery was pooh-poohed and shushed and he was offered crushed ice. Ha, as if!

That had to be it, right? Nothing else to do to him, he was bathed, dressed, tucked up all safe and sound on the sofa, just give him his blanket and he'd….and oh hell…_what now_? More whispers, more grabby hands, the schnick of a cap, he sniffed….yeah, like he could smell anything after being drowned in_ women's_ bubble bath and body spray. A hand on his shoulder, fingers on his ear…..some kind of lotion…cool, gel-like…..oh what the hell…..he gave in, gave up, quit, whatever…..he'd had enough.

Let Sam do whatever the fuck he wanted.

The aloe lotion rubbed in, more spray spritzed, and comfrey compresses applied, Sam covered his slumbering sibling, who had finally stopped fighting and succumbed to the pain meds, with a blanket. Garth was cleaning up, putting more water on to heat and waiting to pour the tea at Sam's command.

"Sam, hey…." Garth came out of the bathroom. Sam sat on the coffee table. "I added fresh water in the tub….take a bath…..while he's asleep…I'll watch him."

"I'm good."

"I know you don't like me very much right now and you're kinda mad at me for Dean getting hurt and his shoulder being messed up and maybe even for him being cursed….but you gotta let me help."

"Garth…."

"You ain't well Sam. I don't know what your problem is, and I ain't askin' but you're shaking and short of breath and you keep getting nose bleeds…..if it's stress, it's doing a number on you buddy."

"The tea ready?"

"Uh, guess." Garth frowned, Sam had made the tea, all Garth was going to do was add hot water. "Want me to add the honey or…..?"

"No…." Sam got up and walked over to the kitchen where he added powdered vanilla creamer to the cup of hot tea. Dean didn't like 'frothy', girly flavoring added to his coffee but perhaps he wouldn't resist quite so much over drinking the tea if it had added flavor. Sam snorted, right, who was he kidding?

"Hey, you…sit down." Garth kicked a chair out with his foot. "You hungry? I got soup and subs at the store."

"No." he rubbed his forehead with his palm, sitting down with a tired sigh.

"When did you last eat?"

Sam shrugged, it didn't matter. He sat until his head cleared, then got to his feet, picked up the mug of tea and approached the sofa. Dean refused the offer but Sam was persistent and forceful and once again, Dean drank something he did not want. By the time Sam was done wrangling Dean into a position he could drink the tea without choking on it, Sam was sweating and splashed with the first two mugs of tea. Dean, in his drug-induced, slightly feverish state, couldn't be reasoned with and this time, Sam had to use out-right dominant force to get the tea down his brother's throat.

"He moves…..sit on him." Sam said tiredly, straightening up and cracking his back. "I'm gonna go wash up in the lake…" he held a hand up to ward off Garth's protests. "Just to get off most of the dirt. I've still got mud in places…" he shook his head. "Then I'll come in and take a hot bath."

"And eat."

"Sure…sure….."

"You said we gotta do all this again in twelve hours?" Garth asked morosely.

"Yup, until the swelling comes down." Sam tucked Dean's left foot under the blanket. "The severe swelling anyway."

"How will we know the difference?"

"Between swelling from the fall and swelling from the curse?" Sam clarified, Garth nodded. "I'll know." he added quietly. "The swelling shouldn't get any worse…if the sandalwood works…uh…thanks for lighting the incense….and the candles were a good thought."

Garth beamed. Now this was teamwork. Sam wasn't such a bad dude after all. He might be all gruff and tuff and he might bite, but his teeth didn't break skin.

"You watch him." Sam ordered, finger poking Garth's chest. "You let him fall off that sofa and I will shoot both your knee caps."

So much for a relationship with Sam.

***000***

Sam sat on the coffee table, watching his brother go through the various stages of his body fighting the talisman's charm as the cure/antidote counteracted its affects. He kept Dean on his back, left foot elevated with ice, heat packs or hot towels on his hip and shoulder.

First to hit him were chills, and he shook with shivers until his teeth chattered and his arms and chest remained dotted with goose bumps. Next were the hot flashes that caused him to break out in a heavy sweat. Sam patiently toweled him down and what bothered him the most was, this time Dean allowed it. Following those nerve-wracking hours came muscle cramps, spasms and apparently, itching. Huh, was Dean allergic to sandalwood or aloe or some ingredient in the bubble bath and spray? Well, no need to panic. They had some generic Benadryl and a couple of tablets would not only help the itchiness, it might also aid him with a deeper sleep.

No position was comfortable, none offered him relief and after an hour of listening to his brother's whines and whimpers and muffled cries, Sam cracked and went back on his word. Despite the risks of too many meds too soon; racing heart, drumming pulse, breathing learned in Lamaze class, he fed his brother more Dilaudid.

Dawn came and Dean was finally quiet, breathing normally and by all appearances asleep. No chills, slight fever, no panting, no restless movements and Sam was forced to get him up and start the bathing process all over again. By the time Sam once again had Dean settled on the sofa, bathed and sprayed and doused and compressed, he was so exhausted, he was stumbling, eyes burning with fatigue.

Stressed and sick with guilt, Sam couldn't bring himself to go some five to seven steps from the sofa and lay down on the bed. He resumed his vigil in the arm-chair near the fire, Garth having retired to the bedroom after quilt-tripping him into eating some toast. Dean was quiet and, for the time-being, sleeping peacefully so Sam felt it safe to succumb to the fatigue pulling at every muscle and nerve in his body. He built up the fire, pulled a blanket across his lap, laid his head back against the chair and…..passed out. Dean wouldn't remain quiet and still for long and Sam would take advantage while he could and nap. His last thought before darkness took over was he hoped when he awoke, Dean showed signs of having the swelling subside.


	9. Chapter 9

So long summer! You went by so quick and what a weird weather-wise season we've had here in Maryland. Last week I was sweating, running around in flip-flops and shorts, refusing to turn the A/C on 'cause it was _September_ and now here, on this nice sunny day I sit in fleece pants, cozy sweat-shirt and bunnies. Aah, well, Autumn is my favorite season. Come on down, McIntosh Apples and Concord Grapes and Candy Corn and Mum's and Apple Cider and Corn Mazes and Haunted Houses and Hay Rides and Renaissance Fairs and Sunday drives through PA to see the fall leaves.

Here's looking forward to a great Season 9 and hey, I heard there's going to be a convention in DC in May. Is it weird I want to go to see Ty Olsson?

* * *

Sam didn't know how long he'd slept. He'd long ago set his watch aside somewhere, either during freeing the car or one of the lake baths or perhaps in the bathroom when he'd taken that wonderfully hot bath. Didn't matter, time was standing still, would remain so until he knew, was convinced, Dean was going to be ok and not succumb to some fucked-up curse.

He must have slept at least an hour, for his neck was stiff. The chair was not made for a 6'4ish man to sleep comfortably in. The bed was…but the chair was here, next to the sofa, where he needed, wanted to be, and the bed was waaayyy over there, across the room, behind the sofa, where he couldn't simply open his eyes and see his brother and watch him take his next breath. Funny, when they'd arrived at the cabin he'd bemoaned the fact it was basically a one-room shack and now he was bemoaning the fact the bed was waaaayyy over there! You know, clear across the oh-so-very-big-room. He snorted….

Right….Sam. Pull it together. He pushed out of the chair, stretched, did a squat or two, cracked his knuckles, his neck, his knees, his back…lordy Jesus, it was going to take weeks of convalescing at the bunker for his body to forgive him for the abuse he'd subjected it to these past…however many days. Dean stirred, the slight movement intruding on Sam's self-pity and ending his clumsy attempt at calisthenics. A quick look at his fingers and chest confirmed no evidence of blood - good, that was good for it meant his nose hadn't bled while he'd slept, ear to shoulder, and he reached to lay a hand on his brother's shoulder, hoping the touch would be enough to settle him down.

It was.

Garth was nowhere to be found and other than a brief thought that perhaps he'd had enough and left, Sam spared him no further consideration. It would be a long time – if ever – before Sam forgave the Bobby-wanna-be for being responsible for the condition Dean was in. Happy thoughts Sam, he coached himself with a clenched jaw, happy thoughts.

It wasn't the curse that had Sam willing to leave Garth in the middle of the lake treading water and, he'd just bet the annoying little gnat would dog-paddle back to the shore closest to the cabin too. No, it was the fact Dean was in so much pain, he willingly asked for pain meds. Opiates. God, Sam hated his brother taking anything stronger than ibuprofen…speaking of….. his neck would benefit from some right now.

"You put me through a lot of shit, you know that?" Sam picked a blanket up from the floor. Dean clutched the fleece he'd been dragging around since leaving the car in his fists. Sam gave an experimental tug….nope, not getting that outta that grip. "Things I do for you…..things you don't even know about…..I'm telling you dude, you….I'm….wanna know a secret? And I've got a few…see this?" good God, how could one couch-bound man make such a mess out of blankets, pillows, towels, and discarded heat and ice packs? "Great head of hair, huh? Did you know it has grey all through it? Yeah, I, uh…." his voice dropped to a whisper. "Dye it. I've tried 'Just For Men' but one of your…aah….well, pick-ups in a bar that was around for breakfast….we were somewhere in…Oklahoma….anyway….said 'Wash that Grey right outta your hair' for women would work better. And hey, it does."

He shook the blanket out and after checking the swelling on Dean's foot and knee, tossed it over him. He fluffed a pillow and stuffed it between Dean's neck and the arm of the sofa. Dean grumbled but didn't awaken and Sam wandered over to retrieve a bottle of water from the cooler. He was surprised to find he was hungry and scrounged around for something to eat. Donuts, sure, why not? Bottle of ibuprofen in hand, he hit the bathroom, then resumed his chair.

"I need you to be ok Dean." he laid his head back. "You gotta be ok." he popped four ibuprofen and set the bottle on the coffee table. "I don't care how much you hurt, you'll get over it…..you always do….just get past this curse and be ok."

***000***

'_**Pssst. Hey, you there, big guy. Need to pee.' hissed the bladder.**_

'_**Oh yeah, you whiny little piss-ass? See me? How'd ya think I'm gonna walk him to the toilet?' countered the knee.**_

'_**You?' scoffed the foot. 'All you gotta do is flex, what about me? I gotta support his weight and lemme tell ya, all those burgers for lunch? Yeah, he ain't no light-weight.'**_

'_**Say what? You're a foot! There are two of you!' whined stomach. 'I'm the one who's gotta process all those greasy meaty meals.'**_

_**'Yeah, like you're all alone. Man, you're a whiner. You think it's a piece of cake, all that alcohol he swills daily?' growled liver.**_

'_**Hello! Remember me? Gotta pee!' howled bladder.**_

'_**OhMyGod! OhMyGod! OhMyGod! We are in**__** so**__** much trouble!" babbled the nerves. "Ohhh, OMG!"**_

'_**All of you, shut up. And stop that abbreviated text-talk. It drives me nuts. And it doesn't matter what any of you want, without me, none of you are going anywhere.' informed brain.**_

'_**Brains, hate 'em. Think they know it all…waa-waa. Forgets it needs us to carry out its demands.' imparted the elected speaker from the collective group of muscles. 'Ha, try it.'**_

'_**OhDear, OhDear, OhDear! The trouble we are in!' worried the nerves. "We are in trouble!"**_

'_**Argue all you like, you don't all join together and get him off this sofa, Sam's gonna be super pissed.' warned spine.**_

'_**I gotta peeeeeee….' wailed bladder.**_

'_**Hey, I think you're all forgetting about me.' growled the bowel. "I got some say in this too, you know. And I say, feet, knees join together and get his lazy ass moving.'**_

'_**You're full of shit.' chirped left buttock. 'Who you calling lazy? Have you seen me? Hell-lo, I'm supposed to be rosy and all aglow, the same size and shape on both sides.' a haughty sniff. 'Not black and blue and…and….distorted.'**_

'_**ACCKK!' quivered the nerves. **_

'_**Least you can move, I can't move, why can't I move?' left shoulder groused. 'You there, muscle, help me move! Ain't that your job?'**_

'_**You can't move because you think it's funny to pop yourself out of place.' elbow said in disdain. 'It's not. I have tennis elbow and I can assure you, I've never played a game of tennis in his life.'**_

'_**Very few people with tennis elbow get it from playing tennis.' common sense spoke up.**_

'_**Who the hell are you?' barked left wrist. **_

_**'Shut up, all of you!' moaned left ear. 'You're giving me an ache.'**_

'_**That right there is why you should believe spine.' advised mind. "Don't want to have to deal with Sam throwing a hissy-fit over having to clean up….."**_

'_**You shut up, you brain you.' interrupted a chorus of…..well, a chorus.**_

'_**I am mind, not brain. Let this be a lesson to you all…..'**_

'_**OhNo, OhNo, OhNo!' went the nerves. "Trouble, trouble, double-trouble!"**_

***000***

Dean woke with a shout, cacophony of voices chasing him into consciousness. He struggled to subdue them and force the lingering cartoonish images with teeth and fangs and mouths and tongues of the weird dream out of his mind. OH GOD! He swallowed hard, allowing his body to sink back into the depths of the sofa as he slowed his breathing and focused his attention. Oh, Thank God! Ha mind, lesson not learned! He still had time to get up and get to the bathroom. He frowned, now there was a disturbing thought.

Right, his stomach wasn't feeling so good – naughty milkshake – and he did have to pee. Unease and discomfort the driving needs, he tried to sit up but once again, the sofa laughed gleefully and kept him captive. He knew two things: 1, Sam had somehow conspired with the sofa to keep him captive for no amount of wiggling, squirming, rolling or shifting, grunting, gasping or groaning gained him his freedom, and 2; he was going to burn the fucking thing before he left the cabin.

"Shit." he wiped the sweat from his face with the crook of his elbow. Really, it shouldn't be so hard to simply, sit up! "Sam?" he grunted. "SAM!" he tossed a pillow that landed in Sam's lap. "Samantha!"

Garth lingered in his room. He'd known when Dean had woken up, heard the sounds of his struggle to sit up and knew he'd failed when he heard him call for Sam. Yeah, Sam, always Sam. Garth was right there, willing to help, but no….always Sam. At first, he didn't venture from his room. He didn't think nearly enough time had passed for Sam to have gotten enough sleep to get over being irritated with him – again. But when he didn't hear the murmur of voices, he got up, squared his shoulders and set forth.

The cabin was quiet, lit by the fire that Sam must have tended not too long ago yet he slept, undisturbed by Dean, in the arm-chair between the sofa and the fire-place. Garth tip-toed past him and approached the sofa. "Dean?" he hung over the back of the sofa. "Hey….how you feeling?"

"Aah….." he ran a hand over his face, slowing gaining control. "Oh." he lifted his head and looked around. Like shit, he felt like crap, stiff and sore and achy and bruised and, oh yeah, right, swollen. And he was hot, his skin tight and stretched too taut and his stomach was waging war and winning and if someone didn't help him get off this god-damn, mother-fucking sofa….

"You want some tea?"

Magic words. Gone was the pain and discomfort. Gone was the desire to gain access and privacy of the bathroom as quickly as possible. Gone was the need to want Sam instead of Garth. Gone was the urge to beg for more pain meds. Gone were the lingering scary-ass vestiges of the dream – he prayed it'd been a dream – and any residual effects of the medication. All replaced with an overwhelming urge to rise up and strike down the threat of impending torture – the deliverance of tea.

"You even boil water for that vile brew and I swear on Bobby's grave, I will drown you in it." Dean muttered ominously. "Help me up."

"Not nearly water enough in a tea-pot to….." Garth gulped, convinced by the look directed his way Dean would somehow find a way to do so. "Okay, but see….Sam said…"

"Are you fond of your teeth?"

Garth blinked, looking down at Dean in child-like confusion. "What? I have very nice teeth. I take quite good care of them." Garth informed him, missing the look of doom. "I use this toothpaste that, not the cheapest, mind you but affordable all the same….and I bought this electric toothbrush….Philips Sonicare….rather expensive but research and consumer reports all list…..not that, mind you, the most expensive is always the best, but the reports say….."

"Garth?"

"Yeah buddy?"

"If you ain't gonna help me up, then Go. Away." with a one-handed death grip on the back of the sofa, Dean managed to pull himself upright. Huh, lookit that, stomach and butt muscles cooperated! Woo-hoo…now was his knee and foot going to play nice as well? "Get out. Get lost." both feet were on the floor, knee flexed and bent, good, that was good. "Be gone." both bladder and bowel were patiently waiting for him to take them to the bathroom. "And….take…your bloody…teeth with you." his left arm supported his weight when he pushed off the sofa and stood up. So, either mind had been obeyed or spine had convinced all how pissed Sam would be if…..

Dean blinked, his jaw unhinged and his mouth dropped open. Where the hell had those thoughts come from? He shook his head. Oh, yeah, right. Not a good idea. His head, annoyed over its recent shaking, threatened to tip him over face first into the coffee table. He stumbled, reaching out for support.

"I gotacha." Garth popped up under Dean's right arm. "Where we going? Not for a walk, I hope. Sam won't like…..oh, the bathroom? Okay, guess it's ok. It's not far."

He guessed it was okay? Dean mused. What the hell did Garth intend to do if he'd decided it wasn't okay? Hand him a coffee can?

Sam let his eyes open once Garth hobbled off with Dean, who while limping, was walking. That had to be a good sign, a great sign, right? He was using his left arm and walking on_ both _feet. He needed to drink both the tea and the ginger again but Garth didn't stand a chance of getting him to do so and Sam was just too tired to do more than roll his head and crack open an eye to track their progress across the room. Dean was nursed and cared for and through the worse; the curse, by all appearances, broken. A three-peat of the treatment loomed in the not to distance future but right now, now was time for some Sammy time.

They'd reached the bathroom and now that Dean had a wall, Garth was needed no more. Sam smiled sleepily as Dean shook free of Garth's support and Garth persisted in offering his aid. "You sure you're gonna be okay on your own?" Garth lingered. "Maybe I should…..?"

Two hands planted themselves in the center of his chest and shoved. The force propelled him backwards, through the door and dumped him on his ass. The door slamming shut in his face was enough to convince him to retreat. He got to his feet, dusted off his ass and approached Sam, whose eyes were closed, his breathing even.

"So, aah, Sam? You awake?" he waited then continued when he got no response. "No? I'll just leave a note then. I'm gonna go outside and call a tow-truck, meet it at my car." he paused, still no response. "I'll walk." he sighed when no offer of a ride or the loan of the Impala was forthcoming. "All that way…..uphill…..in the mud…."

You're leaving? Woo-hoo! Go get your car, get in it and get going, Sam thought. Oh, and keep going.

"Thought, long as it's running, it was when I left it, just need it free of the ditch, I'd go on down to that mini-mart at the motel….get some more ice…something for dinner…."

Oh. Leaving but coming back. Bummer.

"Well…..okay then…..I'll just jot you a note, wait for Dean to come out….."

Sam stirred, raising a hand to cover his mouth over a jaw-cracking yawn. "I've got him, go on."

"Oh, you're awake? Might take me a while….I hate to leave you alone with….."

"No..no…go…you go." Sam sat up, hand running through his hair. "We're good."

Half an hour later, Sam was wishing he'd been the one to retrieve the car, leaving Dean with Garth. Dean didn't go back to sleep. Oh no, he remained awake and irritable. He was in pain and made sure Sam knew it. He was cranky and no amount of pleading or patience coaxed him out of his mood. He was miserable and determined Sam be so as well. Not even the bribe of pain meds curbed his recalcitrance. No, he'd given in, given up against their pull and wouldn't you know, was apparently throwing a reaction.

"Sam, we got another pillow? This one's too soft!"

"Sam, my foot hurts."

"Sam, I'm cold."

"Sam, why I got two knees?"

"Sam, thirsty!"

"Sam, I ain't got no knuckles."

"Sam, I'm hot, it's hot in here."

"Sam, my shoulder…..it….doesn't – won't move."

"Sam, I hate this fucking sofa."

"Sam, I don't feel good.

"Sam, I need another pillow. Two ain't enough."

"Sam, anything to eat?"

"Sam, I gotta pee."

And on, and on and on and oooonnnnnn and when had he lost the ability to speak proper grammar? Sam paced and catered and soothed and offered and retreated and would be punching walls and kicking furniture if Dean didn't sound so damn pitiful and look so wretched, eyes liquid pools of abject misery; looking like a puppy who wanted on the bed, like a distressed child whose favorite toy was broken and he expected Sam to fix it – fix him. _How could Sam be mad at that?_

"Okay, ok….you win." Sam huffed. One thing about Dean's state of mind when throwing reactions to medications was he never remembered any of it. "Here, move your foot….no, not that one…I got the other….okay…right…no….left…" he plopped down on the sofa, too tired to care about taking a seat gracefully.

Years of experience, trial and error, and hits and misses had taught him the only thing that calmed Dean down – aside from copious amounts of whiskey – and shut him up was physical contact. He settled Dean's feet across his lap, his own, one ankle over the other, resting on the coffee table. His socked toes mocked him with a ten-wiggle salute, a sarcastic reminder they were homeless. Right, he needed new boots. His shoes were lost and his boots so encrusted with mud, there was no hope saving them. "Happy now?"

His answer was a contented, happy snort/snuffle and blessed silence.

***000***

"Dean….hey….come on wake up." Sam leaned over the back of the sofa. "Dean….hey! Wake up man."

"Humpfh?" Dean nuzzled deeper into his pillows and blankets. "Nemme."

"Was that a no?"

"Go 'way."

"Need you to get up…we gotta go."

"Now?" he was starting to rouse. "Go where?"

"Find a town with a motel that has electricity." a store with boots my size. "Head back to Kansas." get away from Garth, go now while he's gone and unlikely to be able to follow us, cause Dean, I'm telling you, I can't deal with him anymore. I just can't. Sam sighed, those thoughts were his own, no sense unloading on Dean who couldn't do anything about it.

"Yeah…I don't think so. I ain't…I don't wanna Sammy….."

"You….I'm sorry…say again?" Sam was flummoxed. He'd been sure Dean would want to go 'home.' "Don't you wanna go home?"

"I feel like shit….." Dean moaned. "Belly hurts...don't wanna go."

"Well, yeah….but…..Oh, shit, you didn't." Sam's gaze fell on the bottle of ibuprofen he'd left on the coffee table – well within Dean's reach. He smacked his forehead, knocked himself dizzy and cursed himself for twice being a stupid fool. While he'd slept for hours, apparently Dean hadn't. "How much ibuprofen have you taken?"

Dean held up two fingers, then four then four on his other hand, peeked up from under the blanket to stare at his waggling fingers then cast a confused glance up at his annoyed brother who made a mental note to never let Dean even see another bottle of ibuprofen. Sam crossed his arms over his chest and quirked that single eyebrow – his trademark silent, no-words-needed-to-be-spoken statement of disbelief – that drove Dean nuts.

"And let me guess…you haven't eaten anything." Sam said crossly.

"Aaah…yeah?" he frowned. "Maybe?"

"So, you've taken at least eight in how many hours on an empty belly? You're an ass."

"Just go….leave me here…."

"Leave…? Leave….YOU EXPECT ME TO LEAVE YOU HERE AFTER EVERYTHING YOU PUT ME THROUGH?!" Sam seethed, and then he fumed. He tugged the blankets off his brother and gave him a slow perusal from pale, sweaty head with grotesquely misshapen ear, to puffy elbow and wrist and fingers and knee to swollen foot with purple pudgy toes and the appearance of two ankles; whose skin immediately dotted with goose bumps and he began to shiver.

Might as well leave him in the comfort and safety of the cabin if that's where he wanted to remain. He ought to shake the dumb ass until he vomited every last thing he'd swallowed Sam didn't know about but that would be cruel and serve only to satisfy Sam's desire to see his brother suffer for subjecting him to more hours of worry over how much medication Dean had taken.

"You're going to eat." Sam stated. He was worn out and no amount of sleep was going to make him feel better. No, that wouldn't happen until Dean was free of all meds, on his feet and all limbs and joints and appendages one size. "And I don't mean crackers either. I'll heat some soup and make some toast and if you so much as complain there's only jelly for your toast, I will tie you to the sofa and feed you willow bark tea for a week."

***000***

Garth returned bearing dinner and snacks and ice and the news the flood waters had subsided, the mud had been cleared and all roads were open. Sam was in the chair, Dean on the sofa and boy, he just didn't know when to quit and leave well enough alone.

"So Sam, you think we should give him more tea now?" Garth picked up pillows and blankets, straightened the cushion under Dean's feet and added a couple logs to the fire. The expression on his face implied Sam should have seen to those bits and offers of comfort while he'd been gone. Right, like Sam hadn't already done those things countless times. "Or we can give him the ginger. But, tea I think. We should...…"

We? Sam didn't recall Garth bathing in spilt tea or being spit on, or elbowed or smacked or bitten or threatened and cursed out. Funny memory the little stick-man had.

"He…seems, I dunno…..but he…..kinda feels warm, you think? Looks a little flushed. The tea is for his fever so I think we should get him to drink some."

Again with the 'we'. Sam failed to remember Garth getting up and going down and over and back and around, fetching, holding, coaxing, cleaning…..Christ, was he still talking?

"He's looking better. I'd say we've done a good job." his grin went from ear to ear. "A damn good job!"

Since when was he and Garth a, 'we'?

"Been a rough couple of days, I'll tell you. The dude done wore me out!" Garth cackled. Even with his eyes closed, Sam could see him rubbing his palms together. Wait, wait a minute—Dean had worn_ him _out? "But, we did it. We got him through this."

One more 'we' and Sam was gonna...

"I know what you're thinking…..what with the spirit and the talisman and the fall down the steps and his shoulder and of course, there was the ER and losing him and getting the car stuck…..but I gotta tell ya Sam, we did good, we hung in there. You know that saying, 'git 'er done'? Well, we did, we got 'er done."

Stop talking you little shit, just shut the fuck up.

"What say, I break open this here bottle of champagne and we have a toast?"

Champagne? Truly? He couldn't be serious?

"We deserve it. We did it." he beamed proudly. "We got Dean…"

Sam was out of the chair, had Garth around the neck, off his feet, upside down and tucked under his arm before Garth could utter a squeak.

"What now….? The window? Not the window! Oh hey, I say, don't throw me out the window!" Garth kicked and squirmed to no avail, hands grabbing uselessly at Sam's knees. "What'd I do? What'd I dooooooo? Hey, hey, you're not gonna throw me _through_ the window, are you? Not _through_ it!" he hit with his fists but his blows proved ineffective. No way was his head gonna break that glass. No way. "Open the window first, OPEN THE WINDOW!" he shrieked hysterically. "YOU CAN'T BREAK THE WINDOW WITH MY HEAD! Not my head! Sam, have a heart dude. What'd I say? EEEEE…..IIIII….OOOOO…OWWWW…umph…ooooffff…" garble, gabble and gobble. Christ, he was squawking worse than any chicken ever squawked. "YEEE-OOWWWW!"

"I'm gonna make a voodoo doll." Sam said, lock of just yanked Garth's hair between his fingers and thumb. "And every time you open your mouth, I'm gonna pinch it. Every time you annoy me, I'm gonna stick it with a needle. You do _anything_ to bother me and I'll wrap rubber-bands around its hands and feet. Every time you piss me off, I'll break a toe. You get Dean all riled up and I will glue its tongue to its teeth and sew its mouth shut. Oh, and Garth? I know the spell to make it work."

"You wouldn't!" pause. "How...? Hey, rag dolls don't have teeth...or lips..."

Dean was up on one elbow, smirk curling his lip into a wan smile. "He auditioning for the ribbons act with the circus?"

"DEAN! HELP! Help ME!" Garth wailed, legs kicking, hands flapping, head flopping and bopping. "Get me down!"

Sam crossed the room to hand his brother a bottle of water. "I think he looks good hanging from the curtains. You don't?"

"Just…how did you get him to stay? I mean, he's sideways Sam." he pushed up so that he was sitting and eased against the back of the sofa. "What we got to eat?"

"Dad and me had to learn how to tie you down so you couldn't escape." despite the weariness tugging at every limb and muscle he possessed, for stringing Garth up from the curtain rods had been harder than one would think, he smiled. A hungry Dean was an improved Dean. "Now, you're hungry?" he looked at the table where the take-out container of now cold soup sat. He could understand Dean not wanting the burger and chili-fries Garth had brought him, but he'd expected Dean to eat the soup. It'd been tastier than the canned soup he'd managed to heat earlier; it'd been somewhat burned but still edible. The toast though, that'd been a lost cause. He was too worn out to even cook.

"Heh?" Dean blew him off. "Oh now, come on!"

"Dean." Sam glared. "You've never liked willow bark tea."

"That makes me normal Sam!" he exclaimed. "I mean, who the hell does?"

"When you were a kid," Sam continued with a disapproving look down his nose. "And Dad had to take care of you….he never had patience and you wouldn't stay put so….."

Dean snorted. "Right…..oh…what? That's not fair! I…it was the medication…."

"Yuh-huh."

"How long are we staying here?" he looked around. "Where the hell are we anyway?"

"Cabin." Sam didn't offer more because he truly had no idea what town or state they were in. "We're good for couple days, why?"

"I wanna go home."

"What? You just pitched a bitch fit over wanting to stay here." Sam held his hands up. "You've got another day of treatment…."

"The fuck I do. Try it." Dean growled. "I dare you." he was quiet. Yeah, okay, Sammy wasn't backing down, which meant, Dean was gonna have a fight on his hands if he thought Sam was gonna give over and let Dean have the final say in this non-argument. "We can do it at home." he grudgingly compromised. "Can't we?"

"We could…..if we could get there before it was time to treat you again."

"So, just one more time then, right?" Dean sighed in defeat, hanging his head dejectedly.

Sam nodded. "Unless you relapse."

That got his dander up. For, _one more time,_ he might be able to bite his tongue and swallow his pride and allow himself to be subjected to yet another round of humiliation but this time he was gonna do all that he could by himself. Dean opened his mouth to say just so, to argue, to issue commands and orders and state flat out denial, but his eyes worked independently of his mouth and beat him to a conclusion; Sam was wiped out, was beyond exhausted, was only hanging on 'cause he had one reason to, the only reason that ever mattered to him. Dean.

His eyes were dull, shadowed and sunken. Hell, they were red and bloodshot, eyelids cracked and eyelashes matted from disrupted sleep. The lines across his forehead and around his mouth spelled worry and concern and tension and, Dean cast a glance at the stringed puppet currently displayed as wall art, frustration and annoyance that was Garth.

"Fine." Dean relented. "But I'm bathing myself, I ain't drinking no tea and you come near me with ginger or aloe or broomhilda and…."

"Bromelain, and it's your fault anyway." he fluffed a pillow and patted it in invitation for Dean to lie down. "You ever make it so hard to get back to you again, I will kick the Impala." Sam threatened.

"You do, and she don't break every god-damn toe on your fucking foot, I will." Dean countered. "Just 'cause you're pissed over missing some do-whop college thing, don't mean you can mistreat my car."

"Yeah, sure, that's it." Sam huffed.

"Hey, you weren't ever supposed to be in town….so, your fault you got stuck here."

"No more hunting with Garth, least not without me, okay?" Sam asked, ignoring both Dean's question and Garth's pathetic moaning. "Dean, hey…come on…I ain't asking for much here…can you commit to…I dunno, something? Please?"

Dean nodded, eyes closing despite his determination to keep them open. "Working on it."

*** END ***


End file.
